In the Steps of Giants (DrummyXAroro)

He knew he was getting close when the path transitioned from dirt to paved stone. An adventurer had no true home travelling from region to region in service to the realm. Still, the city of Lufkin held a special place in Tristan’s heart. It was the city he always found himself coming back to, not because it was home to primary guild outpost, but because, for the time being at least, it was where his dear resided.

Today the journey back was a difficult one. To tired to properly grip reins, he teetered from side to side, barely able to stay upright in the saddle. He had ridden without rest to arrive at the promised time. He was covered in sweat, dust, and blood, some of it is own. There were dents peppered across his shield and armor, and puncture holes at his side above his hip and the middle of his opposite thigh. His arm ached from rhythmically striking at relentless string of foes the way a smith might hammer at a stubborn bar or iron. It was supposed to be easy he thought to himself. Just a short stop. There only supposed to be a few of them. He had spent hours in that accursed mine, and was lucky to make it out as relatively unscathed as he had, but that brought him little comfort in light of the work that was left to be done.

He caught a second wind when the towers atop the outer wall rose above the horizon. Suddenly the task and hand seemed smaller, the road ahead shorter. Rejuvenated, he dug his feet into the sides of his mount, spurring it to pick up the pace. The sun had not yet become to set. There was no need to keep her waiting.

The gates were left open to merchants and adventurers during the day, only dropping after sunset of signs of trouble. The guards above him on the fall gave him a nod of acknowledgement but said nothing. One of the newer watchmen, not yet accustomed the grave condition men often rode through in, gave him a concerned look, not realizing that the wounds behind the holes in his plate had already healed.

Lufkin was a newer city in the center region of the continent known as the Hold. The old stones of the guild citadel being the first major structure that the rest of the city was raised around. The outer regions of the city glistened with unweathered marble. Many of the houses were over three stories tall, larger on average than any other cities. Children played in the streets with balls and hoops as their mothers fawned over fine clothes and jewelry. The outer edges had prospered under the influence of traders and aristocrats who were attracted to the protection offered by the guild but wanted some distance from the roughness of its kind.
Compared to the grandeur of the outer districts, the inner ring of the city that was controlled by the guild was simple and functional. The stable walls were cut from plain stones and wooden doors were old and heavy. To his discomfort, the only sounds in the stable was the creak of the rusted iron hinges and the occasional snort and whinny of horses.

If there had been trouble in the city, it would have been made obvious on his way in. Both crime and invasions were rare where at the center of the guild’s influence, and surely, he would have known if she left on a mission, wouldn’t he? She would have sent a courier or a bird to tell him, right? It wouldn’t hurt to check.

The guild headquarters was deliberately close to the stables, with only the medical center between the two. Tired adventurers would not want to walk far to report back in, and injured adventurers wanted to be carried even less so. The doormen at the entrance recognized his badge and granted him entry without question. One of the men must had recognized his face, and greeted him as giant slayer. He seemed surprised and even a little hurt when Tristan didn’t smile back.

The guild had fallen into the lull of the late afternoon. New missions were rarely posted or accepted this late in the day. Only a few adventurers occupied the main hall, most of them heading either to provisions to make final preparations before setting out at dawn or records to submit a report on the day’s work. The clerk at reception knew him better, and knew the lost look on his face. They could tell that he hadn’t come to file his report, and they could tell what he was looking for. When their eyes met the clerk lowered his head and shook it slowly from side to side. Strangely, the clerk’s uncertainty provided him Tristan with some relief. The guild not knowing where she was limited the possibilities significantly. He knew where she was, and had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

He returned to the stable for his horse, and rode out to her grove. He could wait a little longer to rest.

Rejection’s needle shouldn’t sting like it did.

She should be used to it by now. Used to being glossed over, of being the odd one out, of not having her name be called. And yet, here she was, feeling the sharp ache in her chest. Her swords were at her side, her armor donned and heart ready. She watched others receive their silver pins, some who started adventuring after she did, with a bitter gaze. Jealousy sunk its fangs into her and poisoned her thoughts.

I knocked him on his ass last week, she thought, watching a beaming ranger take a silver pin. Her own bronze badge burned a hole in her chest, making her snarl. When the ranger left, her father handed a silver pin to an excited cleric. And the other one pissed himself over some kobolds last mission.

She knew she was a better adventurer than those two. She’d come a long way since her first mission a year and a half ago. Her growth was accelerated by a mixture of her natural talent, her encounter with the werewolf and The Primordial’s influence. She, on occasion, checked out the job board and took on a few silver-ranked solo missions when no one was looking. She never took credit for completing the mission, knowing she could possibly get kicked out of the guild for it. So she did them far and few between… just enough to not raise suspicion, but also enough to test her own skillset.

She knew she was ready, and her parents’ dismissal ate her away.

After the promotion ceremony finished, she could see her father’s shoulders tense in anticipation. He knew she was coming for him, and he was right. She made sure the guild was empty, respectful enough to not cause a scene in front of other guild members, and then stomped to him.

“Why?” She demanded, fists clenched. She didn’t need to clarify what she was asking about.

The tired, battle-hardened man wiped his face with scarred hands. “Ya just ain’t ready,” he said. It was always the same excuse.

“I’ve beat both of them during sparring, I’ve took on more missions than one, and I know for damn sure I’m more prepared than either of them to take on trolls and ogres,” she dared not tell him that she already defeated a few of each.

“Dad, come on,” she knew it sounded like she was whining, but she didn’t care.

“Guildmaster,” her father corrected. Morganna’s shoulders straightened, indignance spreading through her.

“Stop acting like a father then! Act like a guildmaster!” She roared, “You’re holding me back cause I’m your daughter. If you weren’t my father, you’da promoted me long ago. I’m good, and we both know it!”

“Enough, Morganna!” His voice boomed, and Morganna nearly shrunk under the weight of its volume. But this was important to her, and she dared not back down.

“Tristan’s gonna be gold soon, how come he gets promoted while I’m stuck on bronze?”

“Because his head ain’t too broke to listen!”

The words hurt more than she dared show. She took the pain as fuel for her anger, “Oh, so my head is broke now?”

“Only reason I can come up with, for all the times we had this conversation!”

Her fingernails bit into her palms; her fists were so tight. She sucked in her bottom lip and turned away, lest her father see the hurt he caused.

“Morganna,” his voice softened, knowing he pushed too far. She ignored him, keeping on her mask of indifference and anger as she stormed out of the building.

The first thing she did was rush to the stables, saddle up her horse, Tilly, and take off to her special place. She would find solace there, or a good tree to vent her anger out on. Tilly, sensing her urgency, traveled through the forest at incredible speed. Trees and vines blurred into green shapes as she passed them. She sniffed, set her jaw, and wiped at her eyes. The shapes cleared up some, and she was able to make out more details in the forest.

When she arrived, she felt a wave of peace wash over her. The waterfall’s thunderous chatter echoed in the background, drowning out the turbulence in her heart. The pool of water bubbled, clear enough to see the bottom, and she saw fish swimming leisurely. The grass was green and full, an inviting bed for a nap. She wasn’t tempted, though, as she jumped off Tilly and drew her swords. She found a particularly nasty looking tree and started hacking at it, pretending it was an enemy.

She danced with her blades, her body lithe and twisting as she bent to avoid her imagination’s attack. She spun like a ballerina, eyes fixed on her target, and struck at the end of her pirouette. Lightbreaker sunk into the tree trunk head on, while The Primordial came at a diagonal. It bit into the bark, but it did not release its elemental power. It never did against the inanimate.

She withdrew her blades and then hacked some more, chipping away her image into the tree. She kept doing it until sweat dripped from her forehead and between the valley of her chest. The sun began to dip, preparing for its rest during the night, but she didn’t notice the time. It wasn’t until she heard the familiar whinny of a horse and the rustling of plate mail that she knew that she was late for her rendezvous.

She was glad her cheeks were already flushed from the exercise, because as her brother approached, she felt them burn with shame. Her anger and lack of discipline led her out here, and she missed meeting him at the stables. She always met him at the stables when he came home. It was the least she could do, as a sister who truly loved her brother. He was, no doubt, weary from his journey but had to go out of his way to come find her. She felt the gap between them widen, and she knew she was the one who hammered the wedge. Maybe her brain really was broke, just like their father said.

She saw his battered plate mail, the blood that she hoped wasn’t his. She watched tired lines draw across his face, and hot guilt enveloped her once again. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. Her swords hung limply by her side, and the setting sun reflected the bronze pin off her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, hanging her head.

Gwendolyn knew the path they were riding down well. She was able to the stay the course even as he rider’s mind wandered. Maybe he didn’t know his sister as well as he thought. It had been weeks since they last spoke. Each time he had returned she seemed a little further away from him. A chill ran down his spine when he remembered his visit after the Battle for the Gate, where had felt like a stranger before her.

He prayed that he would find her there in grove, and that she had not set off on some foolish adventure on her own. Even this close to the city, the woods were dangerous at night. His muscles relaxed when he spotted her in the grove. She wasn’t lost to him yet. He noted the deep clean cuts in the tree as he approached. Her persistence was paying off.

It panged his heart the way she assumed the worst of him, how she felt the need to apologize. Of all the time they had been together, even in his earliest memories, he could not recall a time he had been truly angry with her. Worried certainly, and even at time frustrated, but most times and in this moment, he was just happy to see her alive and well and determined as ever. He knew that if she had missed his return home, whatever had driven her out here must of have been important to her.

Gently, he lifted her chin with the back of his hand so her eyes met his. He smiled slightly. It was small, but more than nearly anyone had seen from him. “I missed you.” He hoped that would be enough to dispel any doubts she had. He fell backwards deliberately. His arms reached back to stop his fall, leaving him a seated with his knees drawled in. “What happened Mo?” He asked in a concerned, judgement free tone, wishing to go back to the days she shared everything with him.

“I missed you too,” she said, feeling the weight of guilt lift off her chest. She joined him on the ground, crossing her ankles and resting her weight on her wrists. Her palms found some smooth pebbles, and she tossed them leisurely into the pond. When he asked what happened, she stopped throwing the stone mid-swing. She bit on the back of her jaw and then threw the stone with all her might. It landed in the pond with a plunk, and ripples disturbed the surface of the water.

She showed him her bronze pin. He would know today was promotion day and that she was passed over. “My brain is broke, according to the guildmaster,” she replied, purposefully avoiding calling him father. She threw another rock into the lake. “Said I can’t make silver cause I don’t listen. But I do!” She stopped throwing rocks and started ripping up tufts of grass by the handfuls. “Every lecture and piece of advice, and every story about their good ole days and near misses. I listened to ‘em all. I’m tired of them holding me back with their bullshit excuses. Feel like I climb one hill only to find out they put a mountain in front of it.”

She stopped mauling the grass and laid flat on her back, her hands forming a pillow behind her head. She felt the final kiss of the sun’s evening breath, letting her eyes flutter close. The cool night air started to roll in, chilling her sweat-soaked skin. “I’m tired, Tristan,” she said finally, “Just real tired.”

Tristan tried to feign surprise when she presented him worth the bronze pin. He would have known if father had planned to promote her, and he would have moved mountains to be there. He had nearly sent a letter from the road to plead Morgana’s case a week before, but knew somethings needed to talked out in person. He also knew that know that the guild master’s mind had been made up, there would be no changing it. Stubbornness ran in the family.

Though the look surprise in his eyes was transparent, Tristan had never be one for lying, even less so when it came to Morganna, the sympathy was real. Even the favored son who had the sense to keep his head had felt cut the felt of their father’s words and the aches from carrying the wait of his considerable expectation. To this day his shield arm still jumps reflexively to the call of “Again.”

He listened silently to her troubles. Feeling anger at himself for being powerless to help. He had always known what to say, except when it came to his sister’s quarrels with the rest of the family. He felt as though anything he could do would just make things worse.

When she laid back in defeat, he laid down beside her. His arms spread out in T. Lying down on the ground staring up and the swathes of reds and blues streaked across the sky, an odd sense of comfort felt over him. He hadn’t felt comfort like this in a long time, not in the feathered mattresses of the finest inns or even at his family estate. Maybe he was more tired than he thought, or maybe it was the blanket of childhood memories he had wrapped himself in, from the days when her burdens were small enough for his shoulder to bear.

They laid in silence for a while, watching the sky burn in the last display for the evening. She could hear crickets chirping nearby, and the hoot of an owl as it flew overhead.



Tell him, she thought with gritted teeth, Tell him what you’re planning.



But she wasn’t ready. She was scared of the backlash, and her body tensed at the idea. Instead, her mind sought a soothing place. It drifted to when they were children. When it was easier to talk to him. When she could clutch at his pant leg and follow him with reckless abandon.



She found herself remembering aloud, processing her thoughts as she said them, “Remember when we were kids, and I sliced my finger on a sword trynna to train myself?” She reached her scarred fingers to the molten sky, “I was only five and couldn’t even lift it all the way. Mom and dad were so mad, said I was being reckless.”



A nostalgic smile graced her lips as she flexed her fingers, “I don’t think you were too happy either, specially cause I hurt myself,” She turned her head to him, appreciation glimmering in her eyes, “But you got me a short sword anyways. Started showing me the basics, even though you had your own training to do. Met me in secret, and even tried to lie to help me out,” she playfully nudged him with her shoulder.



“You always believed in me, even when no one else did,” the heavens faded to a deep blue, and stars began to shimmer above them, “You were always my rock.” She sucked in a breath, her heartbeat unsteady. She wasn’t sure how her brother would take the news, and she thought she was in for a fight with him. Regardless, she felt that he deserved to know for all the times she put them through hell and had to drag them out of it. But she had to dig deep to find the bravery to say the words. The seconds ticked by as she struggled to find it.


“I’ve been listenin’, I really have, and I know the only way to get their respect is to do something they couldn’t." She stared at the stars and dared not look at him. She was afraid she’d see disappointment on his face, but terrified she’d see heartbreak. But she had to get the words out.

She sighed deeply, the smell of the calm night soothing her jittering nerves. "I'm leaving."

Tristan stretched one arm up towards the sky, his palm points up at the stars as though they were just out of arm’s reach. One his adventures he had met many people of different cultures. It seemed as though each one had their own story of origin and signifies of the stars. Some said they were the eyes of their ancestors watching over them, others that they were cracks in the heaven where celestial power leaked through to their world. Tristan too felt their power. He could have really used some right about now.

He knew this day would come, but he always thought he’d have just a little more time. Now that it was here, he didn’t feel sorrow. He didn’t feel anything at all. It was like it was happening to someone else, far away and a long time ago. But he knew one day it would hit him, maybe not right away, but certainly the next time he returned to the stables to find them empty and he didn’t think he had the strength to pick himself up the day that wave emotions would knock him off his feet.

Deep down, he knew that she was right.  Words would be meaningless in convincing their father of anything now. He understood this was something that she needed to do, yet he couldn’t keep himself from asking. “And you’ve made up your mind.” It had come as more of solemn observation than a question.

“I have.”

He had known the answer before he asked, and he knew the surest way to get her to do something was to forbid it. There was no stopping her now, just as there was no stopping a river’s flow. Strangely, he was not overcome with futility, but a profound clarity of purpose. It was the same certainty he had found when Morganna first picked up a sword, the first time he had gone against his parents wishes. “I’m going with you then”

“What?!” She yelled before she could think. She sat up straight, her shocked eyes wide and unblinking. An odd sort of panic washed over her, the hypocritical kind. She didn’t know what sort of danger they’d be walking into, and she would never forgive herself if he got hurt… or worse. She saw smiling faces, adventurers with battle-worn weapons and bloodstained armor, gathered around Tristan in her mind’s eye. He was smart and noble, well-liked and a respectable leader. He was everything she wasn’t, and to lose him would be a blow to the guild. Not only that, but it’d be a blow to his career. She wasn’t so selfish as to ask him to give up his life for her.

 

“But you have a future here,” she argued.

 

“I’ve made up my mind,” he said. She bit down on the back of her jaw. Damn the Stormbringer’s stubbornness.

 

But she couldn’t let him go without a fight. “Come on, Trist. Just cause I’m taking off don’t mean you gotta leave everything behind. You… they like you, here,” the last sentence turned to ash in her mouth.

 

“They’ll be fine without me.”

 

She sighed through her nose and then they fell into silence. She felt his somber aura, and again guilt gripped her heart with icy claws. She felt guilty for tearing him from their home. She felt guilty for leaving the guild with one less experienced adventurer. But most of all, she felt guilty for the pure joy spreading through her limbs.

 

I won’t be alone. The thought was tucked away in the recesses of her mind. It was past the barricade of pride and toxic independence. But it was there, and she couldn’t ignore it.

 

“Ok,” she resigned herself to say. But she wanted to give him a chance, time to really think about what they were doing, “Meet me at the stables in the mornin’. I won’t be mad if you don’t come.” She offered him a hand to help him get off the ground.

 

Even though she’d never admit it, she would be hugely disappointed if he didn’t show.

Tristan woke up at dawn to make the needed preparations. He had spent at the inn nearest the guild outpost, deliberately avoiding the family estate. Them not knowing he had returned yet would make things easier. His plan required flawless timing and a good bit of luck. Tristan had physical records of his adventures at outposts scattered across the continent as well as a network of other silvers ready to vouch for him. Morganna on the other hand, who had only done small scale quests in the local area had only a single record. If the guild master chose not to forward it to the other branches out of spite, she would be effectively blacklisted. Though his sister may not have realized it, the guild had long since established a monopoly on its line of work. No one would take a chance on a freelancer with no history.

He had filled out the first form in his candlelit room the night before. A simple addendum to the mission he had been assigned on his journey home the day prior that would adjust the initial threat assessment as well as allow her to sign on for credit. It was likely however, that that wouldn’t be enough to secure work in another region. While guild documents had a commendable officialism to them, adventurers staked their entire career on word of mouth.

He was one of the first ones in line when the guild outpost opened their doors that morning. Fresh bounties were still being pinned to the wall when he approached the board. He needed something that would get them close to a separate branch of the guild, preferably one where the happy clients would be arriving with them. This, he knew, was a stretch. With guild now having offices in nearly every major city, job postings rarely crossed kingdom borders, at least for jobs at level the two of them could handle alone. Fate was with him that day, for as if he had conjured it through sheer force of will the perfect posting was laid out before him. A group of merchants were looking for someone to escort their caravan through a mountain pass to the north. The initial rendezvous would be in a small town near the border with a long enough lead up for them to arrive with time to spare. The only hitch was that it required either another party member, which Morganna seemed unlikely to approve, or for one of them to get a promotion by then, which didn’t seem possible. Not to be defeated so easily, Tristan assured himself he would think of some sort of work around on his way to have the papers processed. It turned out he wouldn’t need to.

“I know what you’re doing,” the familiar voice said from behind him. Before he could turn to face the speaker, a large four legged pressed against his side. The tiger growled as he passed by him. As playful and mischievous as its owner, it got a kick from trying to frighten old friends before genially rubbing its head against them. “Don’t tell me we surprised you,” Etelka chided. “The kid would have heard us coming.” If that were true, it would be quite the feat. The huntress was known as master of stealth as well as much else. She wore the hides of the magnificent beasts she shad slain in battle, and a crown of antlers rested above her pointed ears. She had been a mentor to the young Stormbringer’s and to their mother decades before.

“How did you-”
“A little bird told me” she interrupted before Tristan could answer his question. The answer had come across as a jest, but he knew it wasn’t far from the truth.

Despite her laid-back nature, Tristan trusted in Etelka wisdom. Now that she was, he questioned the soundness of what he was planning. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?” He asked.

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “Who can say, but if you ask me, it would do you some good to make some mistakes golden boy.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, a fleeting peck, before turning away. She paused once more before walking off and added. “If you need to put my name down for anything, I’ll be happy to play along. Oh, and tell the kid I said hi.” Rajah, her trusted companion followed closely behind her as she wandered farther into the complex, his tail swaying from side to side as it plodded along.

The forms were approved with little more than a quizzical look at only a single bronze member being listed under the reinforcements request. His reputation for levelheadedness had saved him from any questions, which was fortunate as he doubted, he could justify the decision if asked. He originally planned on bringing two follow silvers on his trip to the caves. Once his plans were green lit it rushed out the door before the crowds would gather for the day’s specials assignments to be announced.

Morganna was waiting for him when he arrived. He had hoped he hadn’t kept her too long. “I got you something” he said as he handed her two forms. The one read “Reinforcements Acquisition” and the other “Assignment Request” across the top. Both were stamped with the the guild symbol, a three headed serpent, and the word “APPROVED” in upper case letters in red ink across the bottom.

Dark circles hung beneath her eyes as she readied Tilly. Her hands shook, and she repeatedly admonished herself for it. Nerves and excitement kept her awake last night, humming beneath her skin with the intensity of thousands of small bees. When she did eventually fall asleep, she was plagued by nightmares. Tristan fell to his knees, coughing up blood. He defiantly raised his head against a being, a presence cloaked in shadow and beyond her imagination. He raised his hammer to smite it, but it kicked the hammer aside. It raised its blade, a familiar swirl of rainbow hues twisting within it, and Morganna screamed as The Primordial came down on Tristan’s neck.

She swallowed hard, gently touching her raspy throat. She woke herself up with that scream, and dared not go back to sleep afterwards. Despite knowing it was just a violent work of mind-fiction, the imagery was too terrifying to repeat. She briefly considered calling the whole thing off, but the logical side of her brain knew that was an overreaction. She used the nervous energy to her advantage, checking and triple checking her supplies and battle readiness. She made sure they had bandages, antiseptic, rope, and any other assortment of survival gear. They all fit in her magic bag quite nicely – as most things did.

Tilly huffed beside her, and Morganna soothed her with hushed noises. She brushed down Tilly’s neck and checked the sun’s position. Maybe she should take off right now. Leave Tristan behind. He could stay here, make gold, and then decide on starting a family and retire. She could be an aunt, if she just would let him go. She always thought Tristan needed a demure, sweet woman, who would greet him at the threshold of their home with a freshly baked pie. Or maybe, he needed a fiery, snapping adventurer, who could fight by his side with reckless abandon.

Or maybe both, she thought with an amused snort. Although, she sincerely doubted her straight-laced brother would be into polygamy. But her fantasies of aunthood were cut short as Tristan entered the stables. A bright smile broke her face, the first one she had in a while. Despite truly wanting what was best for him, the selfish side of her didn’t want to give up her brother. Not yet.

“I got you something,” he said. She glanced at the missions in his hand and her smile grew wider. An unveiled enthusiasm glimmered in her eyes, and her adventurous spirit stirred her to impulsivity. She tied her magical bag to Tilly’s side with a final tug, and then she motioned to his already-saddled Gwendolyn.

“You always get me very best presents, brother,” she said, mounting Tilly, “Where to?”

“We have unfinished business at Cedar Rock, a small mining town a few hours ride from the city.” He placed the papers firmly in her hand, knowing she would take the hint to read them over carefully in preparation for the journey ahead. In the meantime, he checked the bags she had readied. They were well stocked with all the essentials, plenty of rope, a tinderbox, ample rations, and two covered lanterns with spare wax. It gave him hope that she meant what she said about having listened all these years and deserving more credit than she’d been given.

The trip to Cedar Rock was uneventful. The horses trotted along at a steady pace. Even the unpaved portions of the path were well worn by heavy shipments of ore to the smelters of Lufkin. Tristan's first journey to the mine had been somber and draining, an unwelcome detour at the end of a long tour of duty. This time around he was well rested and his spirits were held aloft by the zeal in his sister’s eyes. This their first outing together, and Mo’s level of alertness did not disappoint. She had always been more attuned with nature than him. As they rode she would periodically turn her head to inspect elements of their surroundings she deemed significant such as the snapped back limbs of a nearby tree or the rotation of rodents and small birds that appeared to be following them.

The path widened where the part of the surrounding cedar forest had been cleared to make room for an outcrop of buildings around the singular entrance to the mine. Only a handful of families lived in the settlement, and by the look of things, all were accounted for. The proprietor of the mine, and by extension the town, had sought out the guild’s aid when a band of goblins drug his daughter into the mines in the middle of the night. She had been the third child to go missing from the town, and the only one Tristan had found after breaking through the goblin barricade. Despite that, her father had failed to heed Tristan’s warning of the newly adjoined tunnels. Tristan’s jaw clenched in frustration. The man had gambled the safety on the entire town on the adventurer’s return. The conditions of the contract had been fulfilled. Tristan was under no further obligations, and without the promise for additional payment few in the guild would stop to think twice before turning their back on the town. Yet here he was, rewarding their hubris.

The mine was too narrow for them to walk side by side. Tristan led the way, their path illuminated by the light of the small lanterns belted their waists. He guided her carefully, pointing out the shattered remains of the crude barricade of spears and thorny vines so she wouldn’t trip, though the gesture was likely unnecessary. Deeper in they had to crawl over a pile of rocks that had fallen overhead. The lantern from Tristan’s last journey underground lay shattered in the rubble. Beyond that, their lights revealed a layer of soot on the walls from a fiery explosion a day earlier. At shoulder height a thin line ran through the residue where Tristan had felt his way through the dark. The last stretch of path was the most gruesome. Two score of mangled, child-sized, green bodies lined the tunnel, their heads crushed and their chests sunken. Goblin bones crunched beneath the adventurers’ feet as they stepped over them. The crumpled bodies were strewn too close together to be avoided. “Why didn’t they run,” Morganna asked. She too, had found the Goblin’s commitment to their cause unnerving.
The question haunted Tristan. With each crushing blow he had called for their surrender, beseeching them to flee with the few words of Goblin he knew. Yet they pressed on relentlessly. Wave after wave had crashed upon his shield, until there were none left to stand before him.

Shortly beyond the goblin massacre the tunnel came to an abrupt end. Just prior to the point Tristan had found the weeping child a day before, a pile of rubble temporarily blocked the connection tunnel between the mine and an expansive cavern. A faint chinking sound of pickaxes could be heard on the other side. Their rhythm was slower and spread over a wider distance than he had anticipated, but the plan remained unchanged. “Let them finish digging through. Let them tire themselves out. Then we strike” he whispered.

Morganna was more excited… hours ago, when Tristan first talked about “striking”.

She spent the first hour stocking goblin bodies, making a macabre barricade. She picked up pieces of the traps and analyzed them, making notes about their craftsmanship, but that didn’t entertain her for too long. She even picked through the goblin’s equipment a couple times. She admired her brother’s handiwork and wondered how he managed such a feat. And he even saved a girl, to boot. She wondered, briefly, if she would have been capable of such victory. It was, of course, a thought that promptly got shoved into a box, where all her other thoughts of inferiority went. It was a thought, nonetheless. But now, hours later, the sound of digging was giving her a headache, and boredom was drilling a hole through her brain. She was lying flat on her back, tossing a ball up in the air to herself, and glancing at the collapsed tunnel occasionally. The voices were getting closer, but still too far away to be distinctive. She let out a soft huff.

“I’m bored,” she whispered after she caught the ball for the millionth time.

“Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet,” he replied.

Of course. She huffed again. Tristan, the ever patient, immovable mountain, didn’t complain once during their wait. Instead, he was staring at a single point, focused. On what, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he was going over strategies. Maybe he was thinking about paladin creeds or moral codes or whatever ethic laws he bound himself to. Maybe he was thinking about that god-awful decaying goblin smell that was wafting from her barricade and seeped into the cavern floor. Or maybe, he was wondering why the goblins didn’t run and why their traps and equipment were so well-made. She knew she was.

And then, an acrid odor rose above the smell of the goblin’s flesh, and Morganna’s nose wrinkled in remembrance. It was an odd smell, like that of mold, sulfur, and copper, and belonged to only one race that she knew of. The indistinct voices were clearer, speaking a couple Goblin words but not with tongues of goblins. She sat upright, recognizing the deep and primal tone. She mouthed the word “ogres” to her brother, and suddenly her whole world tilted. The traps, the equipment, the determination, it all started to fall into place. Goblins, ever the dim-witted and cowardly, normally would’ve fled at Tristan’s display of strength. They wouldn’t have, though, if they were afraid of what lurked in the escape route.

She tapped Lightbreaker twice. Its iridescent, warping blade brightened for a second and then faded.

“I’ll set off a flash as soon as they break through,” she whispered.

Her brother shook his head, “Wait for my signal when the time comes.”

She was miffed, slighted at the fact that her idea wasn’t going to be put to use, but conceded the point. Tristan was, after all, the master tactician here. The voices were just on the other side of the wall, now. There were quite a few ogres, more than she ever took on by herself. The small bees were under her skin again, and she hummed with anticipation. At the same time, an ivy of fear grew around the column of her spine. Her pupils dilated as bits of rock crumbled from the wall. Her blood rushed and an animalistic grin spread across her face. Her fear and excitement intertwined into brutality. She knew she was odd but she loved the contradiction.

The rock wall crumbled in half, and Morganna growled as she leapt into action. She slashed Lightbreaker across the eyes of an unsuspecting ogre, and it howled and stumbled backwards. She used the swing’s momentum to spin her around, slashing the Primordial down and between the shoulder and neck of another ogre. She felt a tug, like the ocean’s pull, as she withdrew the blade. She wasn’t the only eager one here, and she knew the powerful blade wished to unleash its fury.

Not yet, she thought, and the impulse ebbed to a deep throb. She dared not release the powerful force in such a cramped space, and one that was already structurally unsound. Not unless the situation turned dire.

The ogres, surprised by such a display of force, quickly erupted into chaos. They screamed in pain and in fury. Morganna resisted the urge to leap over what was left of the rock wall and attack what was within reach. Her bloodlust was rising, egged on by adrenaline and knowing she had the advantage. But the logical side of her brain took over, cooling her down. She stole a glance towards her brother, checking to see his progress.

They had traveled deeper into the mine than the autumn breeze above could reach. With nothing to carry out the heat or humidity, the mine was uncomfortably hot for Tristan in his full plate. When he wiped the sweat from his brown the coarse dust that had gathered on him scraped against his skin.

Though he focused on the wall ahead, attempting to discern the number of location of miners on the other side, he caught the occasional motion of Morganna out of the corner of his eye. The dim, flickering light of his lantern played tricks on his mind. The restless teen beside him appeared younger than she was. She seemed the same defiant child who tried to follow him on his first adventure. If he faltered this mine would be her grave.

The recollection of her trying to follow him brought back memories of later that same day. He recalled what he had been like all those years ago. The rhythmic beating of metal on rock faded to white noise. “Loosen your shoulders!” Etelka scolded. “You’ll do us no good if you’re all tense like that. Trust in the team and relax.”

Morganna’s plan brought him back to the present. Though he rejected it, he was reassured. She was trying, and she had undeniable talent, even if she didn’t know how to apply it. They could temper it in the heat of battle. They could persevere.

Tristan foresaw the moment the wall would fold. He had rose to his feet and hoisted his hammer of the ground before the picks struck the stone for a final time, still the younger and faster Morganna drew first blood. Tristan was not far behind. His first blow came in one fluid motion. The swing began while dust still hung in the air from the falling rubble. The hammer barely slowed when it collided with the chest of an ogre in the frontlines. The ogre collapsed back and to the side as the hammer traveled Tristan’s full range of motion. He had pumped enough magical energy to ensure his initial strike was a clean kill, knowing a decisive hit was needed to create the moment of hesitation that would allow him to press forward.

The ogre behind the first stumbled backwards, momentarily out of Tristan’s reach. He pursued it over the pile of rocks, removing the advantage of the beast’s superior reach and cutting it off from precious throwing ammo. Before the ogre could find its resolve, Tristan found a weak spot in its knee. A side sweep from his hammer brought the creature lurching forward, aligning its head perfectly for a fatal downswing.

After gaining a foothold in the larger cavern Tristan positioned himself carefully, knowing from the shouts in the back that his foes would soon regain their composer. He kept a wall to one of his flanks, and made sure no ogres had passed between him and his sister.


Etelka’s words echoed in his mind.  He was determined to be marked as the primary threat, His intent wasn’t to protect Morganna, but to draw enough attention to let her make full use of her offensive talents. He advanced on the nearest ogre, his shield catching its spike club mid swing. The beast had underestimated the strength afforded by Tristan’s superior stance and technique and found itself in a deadlock. Pulling away would leave it open to a devastating rebuke, while the opposing knight could disengage at any moment, letting the club crash harmlessly to the ground beside him. Tristan took this moment to read room, noting each fighter's reactions.  He paid special mind the shadows at the edge of his light source looking for signs of reinforcements or other cause to fall back.

If Morganna was a tiger, then Tristan was a bull. While she was agile and quick, he was decisive and firm. He didn’t hesitate to leap over the rock wall, and Morganna trusted him enough to follow. She sheathed the Primordial and used her free hand to spring over the wall, taking care to land behind her brother and in his area of protection. His attacks were brutal and full of power, drawing the attention of the dimwitted ogres, and that gave her plenty of time to unsheathe the Primordial and leap into the chaos. Her blades fluttered and caught the light like the deadly claws of a lithe cat, and the previously blinded ogre fell to pieces before it knew what was happening.

 

The gong of a club on metal drew her attention away for a split second, and she nearly snapped her neck looking for Tristan. Panic spread through her like poison. But Tristan had it under control, as experienced as he was, and was only using his shield as it was intended. The opposing side took advantage of her distraction. An ogre stepped over its felled comrade and smashed its club downwards with a guttural roar. Morganna blocked it just in time by crossing her swords in front of her. Her shoulders shuddered and creaked under the weight. Sweat broke out on her brow. Parrying heavy blows wasn’t her forte, and her muscles felt like they would snap.

 

She heard Goblin over the sounds of battle, but she never heard Goblin spoken like this. It was in full sentences, unphased, controlled, and commanding. Her ogre reached out a thick hand, the one that wasn’t holding a club, to grab her. She ducked and rolled to the side, letting the ogre’s downward pressure throw it off balance, and sliced the tendons the offending appendage with Lightbreaker. It howled and stumbled backwards, grabbing its awkwardly bent hand. She approached, Lightbreaker dripping with green blood, and prepared to finish it off.

 

A whizz flew by her head and her hair swayed in its wake. She felt something slice across her cheek, and her eyes wildly searched for whatever dared interrupt her kill. The rock exploded behind her as it smashed against the wall, but she paid it no heed. Her mouth was twisted in a snarl, growling at an ogre emerging from the rear. Defiantly, she stabbed Lightbreaker through the crippled ogre’s chest. It let out one last cry of pain before dying.

 

The emerging ogre was far more prepared than the others. It wore heavy armor, thick enough that she’d have difficulty piercing her blades through it, and a mace hung at its hip. The flickering lights caught glimmers of intelligence in this one’s eyes, and her instinct told her that this one was different. It was barking out orders, trying to get its dimwitted comrades organized.

 

“CAPTAIN!” She yelled, knowing they’d have to work together to take this beast down.

Tristan noticed the captain before Morganna called out. He had been expecting it. The death throes of the wounded ogres carried through miles of the empty tunnels. If a second wave were approaching, the stamped of their clumsy heavy feet would have echoed thunderously down the hall. Now that he was reasonably assured there were no more reinforcements coming, he could focus solely on those before them.

When Morganna’s defenses had momentarily faltered, Tristan couldn’t help but see her as a small and vulnerable child on again. When it came to her, trusting the team was a lesson he would have to relearn.

Time was not on their side. He knew that a single opportune strike could turn the tide of a battle. A single misstep would put an early end to an adventurer’s career.

Half the ogres had already fell to Morganna and Tristan’s combined efforts. The ironclad captain was the only thing holding the tattered group together. It was also the sole focus of Tristan’s ire, fact that he made no effort to conceal. His eyes locked on the captain; everything was just an obstacle between them.

“Three,” he started, continuing the rest of the count  silently in his head. Trust the team, know your role, get in position, and the opportunity will come, he assured himself. He pulled back slightly, forcing the ogre that had pressed against him to step forward to maintain its balance. This was enough of an opening for Tristan to pass by. A half-step into position followed by a back swing shattered the base of the ogre’s spine, ensuring it wouldn’t turn to pursue him.

None of his foes had expected such a brazen display, hadn’t even suspected he’d be able to move from under the weight of such a large foe. By time the ogre nearest him had begun to react, Tristan had already built up the momentum for his charge to knock the grunt harmlessly aside. Still, three more remained in his path and were falling in on their captain.

Tristan noted the distance to his target. The opening would be small and he needed a precise decisive blow. Anything less would lead to a tossup hinging of if Morganna or the captain fell first, and no matter how aggressive he was Tristan couldn’t hold the attention of all five ogres for long.  Tristan closed his eyes as he transversed the last few feet of his charge. He put his complete trust in Morganna. If she had missed her signal, he would be faced with a brutal uphill battle where he’d be surrounded on all sides.

When Tristan opened his eyes, the captain was right in front of him. Reeling back from the burst of intense light along his followers. For creatures accustomed to the blackness of caves the nova was particularly unbearable. He squeezed Skyfall’s handle as tight as he could and rose the hammer high above his head. A crack of thunder rumbled through the caver, shaking the ground beneath their feet when the full unbridled force of Tristan’s magical might embedded in the captain’s chest, exploding its armor and rib cage on impact. The sound was followed by a softer thud when the captain’s corpse flew into the wall. It’s head fell forwardly limply after it’s neck snapped from the collision.

The ogres weren’t the only things shocked by Tristan’s brazen display of brutality. She nearly missed the count in her head, stunned as she was, and had to jerk herself to the present as he stampeded to the captain. He was closing the last few feet as she counted to zero, shut her eyes tight, and raised Lightbreaker. The sword erupted to an explosive glow, blinding the nearby ogres. The light burned the back of her eyelids, and she could only imagine how badly it affected the ogres.

 

The shapes were a little distorted as she opened her eyes, but she saw well enough to recognize Tristan and his powerful blow. It felt like the cavern shifted beneath her feet, so strong was the impact of his hammer. A strange sense of admiration and intimidation made her lips part in a wild grin. She killed the one he knocked to the ground without much hassle. Everything came into focus, and she counted three panicked and unfortunate ogres remained. She didn’t give them a chance to regroup. She was upon them before the captain’s body hit the floor. She made quick work of an ogre that was covering its eyes with its hands, pushing the Primordial between its arms, to its neck, and up and out the other side. Its head half hung from its shoulders before it collapsed. Green blood fountained in a gory display, sprinkling Morganna’s face as she passed it.

 

The remaining two, upon recovering their vision, saw the captain’s twisted neck and their comrades oozing bodies. They began to flee but Morganna was not one for mercy. She made a noise that was more animal than human, leaping across the captain’s body and digging both her blades into the back of a retreating ogre. She hung there, like a deadly spider monkey, as her host sunk to its knees. Her brother made short work of the other one, and then there was nothing but eerie silence in the cave.

 

It was then that she heard her own breathing, rapid and shallow, like that of a hungry wolf. Small wisps of hair tickled her forehead, even as sweat glued other pieces to the back of her neck. Victory thundered in her veins, and she desperately searched for more enemies, despite knowing she would find none. She pulled out her blades from the ogre’s back and wiped the blood off on its tunic. She forced herself to breath deeply through her nose, trying to settle her heartbeat, and gagged at the up-close-and-personal reek of sulfur and mold wafting from the bodies.

 

“Whew,” she said, pinching her nose and fanning her face, “Dat’s potent. We’d smell ‘em before we see ‘em.” Her voice was nasally and congested. She started down the way that the captain emerged, Tristan following, and they didn’t need to speak to understand that they’d kill off any potential survivors or pockets that remained.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

It was dark when they emerged from the caves, and Morganna thought she’d sob at the smell of fresh pine. She breathed in bucketfuls, trying to clear her nostrils of the stench, as she approached her tethered mare. She fuddled through her bottomless bag of stuff, and then pulled out a mostly clean handkerchief. She put it up to her nose and blew, blew as hard as she could to get the smell of ogre out, and sniffed a few times.

 

Her immediate need taken care of, she then turned around and itched her back on the tree Tilly was tied to. “Thought I’d die down there,” she joked, “My back was so itchy, thought my spine was trynna crawl out my skin!” She gave her body a final shimmy before untying Tilly. She let Tristan take care of whatever he needed to before suggesting, “Probably ought to make camp soon. Might notta hit us yet, but we had a hell of a day.”

 

Was she telling him something he probably already knew? Yes. And maybe the joke about death was uncalled for. But she saw how he was down there. He was completely capable, no doubt, but he was also more reckless than the rumors foretold. She thought that maybe rumors weren’t entirely reliable, but the undisputed look of ire towards the rock-throwing captain had her wondering. She knew there was an age and experience gap between them, and she wondered if maybe he tagged along for hidden reasons. That is, not to spend time with her, but because he didn’t trust her abilities.

 

It was her job to prove herself capable. Maybe she’d have to yell at him and go against his wishes to make him believe it, but she didn’t want to break the fragile trust between them. She led Tilly away from the smelly caves and towards the nearby town. She relied on the bright moonlight, still full and focused, and found a suitable campground. They set up camp in contemplative silence, and she wondered if Tristan would break the ice.

Tristan welcomed the warmth of the fire. He watched the flames as intently as his eyes could bear. Following the erratic movements of the blaze helped quiet the delirium of thoughts galavanting through his mind. The quiet respite between jobs that gave him ample time to reflect caused Tristan much grief. Though troublesome to do, he had to work through the doubt and confusion. A clear mind was required to walk the path he had set out on, especially during rocky patches such as this.

Morganna had fulfilled her childhood promise of going on an adventure with him. Children run wild with their ambitions and dreams that are quickly abandoned if not entirely forgotten, but when his eight-year old sister professed her goal to him there was no doubt in his mind she’d achieve it. Though she still had a long way to go, he believed that she would make good on her promise to surpass their father as well, and was happy that he got to accompany her on the first steps of that journey.

Or rather, he should have been. While it hadn’t come about as planned, their first adventure side by side had been something both of them had been waiting for for years. Not only that, but had objectively been a resounding success. They had staved off the immediate threat, with no ogres escaping and the cavern being thoroughly checked, there was little worry of a subsequent invading force. Still, something was off.

Since their time in the cave Morganna had been more petulant than she had been on even her worst days since he had left on his first adventure ten years prior. Something had upset her, and the cut of her morbid joke suggested that it was him.

His sister had known him better than anyone. Since the early days of his training only she could see through the stone mask of impassiveness he wore as well as the only one who could coax it off him. Had she glimpsed the doubt in his heart, did that moment of  faithlessness wound his sister’s ego? Was that why she lashed out at him so?

The flames of the fire shrunk embers as he racked his brain. He poked the wood in the pit with a stick, barely noticing when a piece of hot ash picked up by the wind fell on his face. He sought justification for his reckless charge. If he could find a reason more than a lack of confidence in his partner. His underlying need to take full responsibility for any trouble Morganna found herself in had stuck with him for years, and it was something he would need to shake if they were to continue on this journey together. He suspected she had grown to resent him for always protecting her. He also knew he lacked the strength needed to protect her much longer.  There had to be more to his actions.

He knew the risks and consequences of his onslaught beforehand. If his plan had diverged into a four on one with the ogre he would have walked away with heavy injuries if he could walk away at all. Despite that, he proceeded anyway. He couldn’t yet grasp why, but had a nagging feeling that answering that was the solution to his dilemma. If it had truly only been about her protection, he could have easily covered them as they fell back into the narrow mine shaft. The orges would have been easy pickings if forced to approach on at a time like the goblins.

Nor did he act in a fit of rage. It was true the captain had sparked anger deep inside him. He had sworn to smite the beast that moment, but his vow of enmity had not clouded his judgement. If anything it had sharpened his edge. In that moment everything that was obscured from him now was plainly laid out.

It occurred to him then that perhaps he too had something to prove. His recklessness had not been a display of strength or valor, but rather a declaration of trust. He knew the severity of the chance he took. If there had been any doubt in his mind he would have found another path. Maybe he didn’t always see her as the capable young adult she had become, but at least he knew he could when he needed to most.

“You know I trust you, right?"

Shit. She fucked up, big time, and now she was being an ass. But it wasn’t her fault! She was just so angry at him when he leapt into the fray like that. One slip up, and the ogres would have pulverized him. What if she didn’t catch his signal? What then? She stabbed the fire with a stick.

“You know I trust you, right?”

Tristan’s confession came out of nowhere, and Morganna lifted her head and searched for the recipient. It couldn’t have been for her. And yet, it was. Confusion muddled her brain; she never expected such honor. She was more at home being the bad guy, the reckless one, and such a compliment was outside of her comfort zone. Her lips pursed, determining that she was, in fact, the receiver. She thought, for a second, that it was a manipulation tactic, one to let her guard down so that a well-meaning lecture would pierce her.

“Do you?” She asked, looking at him. He averted his eyes.

“Mostly. It’s something I’m working on,” he responded. It stung a little. But she couldn’t fault him for the way he felt. She felt it too. There was trust, definitely, assuredly, definitively, and she trusted him like she trusted the sun to rise. But that trust wasn’t enough, not when they were in danger, and not after seeing him die in her dreams.

It took her a few seconds, but she gathered up the strength to be honest. “Me too. It ain’t easy to see you in harms’s way. But you know what you’re doing.”

“I used to think so, but these last couple days, I haven’t been so sure.” Was that insecurity? She didn’t want to see it. She didn’t want to realize he was human, just like her, and that his inner demons tortured him. He was an angel-the only angel in the world-and this was just humility.

She tried to lighten the mood with a teasing smile and a joke, “How you mean? We’re alive and they ain’t. Seems like the result of know-how to me.”

“You’re right. It’s nothing.”

She furrowed her brow and stared at him, unused to such an obvious deflection. Her heart tightened in her chest, and she worried that her joke shut him down. Maybe he wanted to talk. He needed to open up, and she slammed the door in his face with an ill-placed joke. She thought of how angry and passive aggressive she was before they set up camp, and she mentally berated herself for it. But she could change. She’d be a good little sister, and an excellent listener. She leaned towards him, unable to hide her concern, “You alright?”

“I’ll be fine. You should get some sleep.” Her heart sunk. Her attempts came too late.

Defeated, and too awkward to know how to proceed, she crawled into her bedroll. She dragged like a sloth, drawing the seconds out and giving him time to change his mind. She flicked her eyes towards him a few times, but he didn’t budge. Her shoulders slumped, the weight of her decisions weighing them down. Silence fell on the camp, interrupted only by pops from the fire and the song of the crickets. She stared up at the sky, reminded of how many times Tristan stuck his neck out for her. It wasn’t just last night, or when he taught her about the sword. He chose her, made her an important factor in his decisions. All she had to do was open her mouth to fuck up. Her brain really was broke.

She couldn’t fix it all overnight. Her attitude was a core problem in her relationship with him and everyone else. But she’d move heaven and earth to start.

“Hey, Trist?”

“What, Mo’?”

“Thanks…” the word tasted strange on her tongue, and she wondered if it expressed how much she appreciated him. She continued, “And… I love you.”

“I love you too. Sweet dreams.”

They weren’t quite where she wanted them to be, but one day, they would be. She fell into a restless sleep, plagued with visions of easier times. Of when she’d follow him around, fall face first into the dirt, and he’d laugh and come pick her up. They were kids again, best friends and sharing secrets.

Consciousness was a relief, and the harshness of reality dulled the pain of fantasy. She spat her hair out of her mouth, stretching and mewling. Bleary-eyed, she approached Tristan and tapped him on the shoulder. She yawned and then pointed at his bedroll with her thumb, “My turn.”

He nearly declined her offer at first, but quickly thought better of it. How could he deny her equal responsibility in taking watch just hours after professing his trust for her? His honor would not allow his words to ring hollow. She was capable of dealing with anything the forest could throw at her.

“If you insist.” He didn’t want to show it; he’d remain an unshakable tower of fortitude in her eyes as long as he could, but he was tired too. The prior night’s rest was not enough to fully recover from his first trek into the mine. It only masked his fatigue, and the overzealous display of strength against the ogres drained him more than he realized. Tristan removed his armor and slid into his bedroll. As he was about to fall asleep the owl that perched above their camp the last several hours took flight. He wondered if it liked what it saw.
Tristan dreamed of the bright future that laid ahead of Morganna years beyond the troubles faced today. She sat surrounded by treasures won in hard fought conquests, her trusty sword sheathed across her lap. A group of decorated adventurers, some familiar to him, gathered around her, seeking her guidance and wisdom in dealing with some great threat. She was perfectly poised as she rallied the group with an invigorating speech. Their victory would be swift and glorious. He was happy for her, so much so that he hardly noticed his absence. He knew then that he would sacrifice everything to make this dream reality.

Morganna let him rest past dawn. By the time they returned, the villagers were clearing the corpses from the mine. They must have figured that if the town made it through the night the two adventurers must have succeeded.

Tristan let Morganna complete the summary of their mission and present it to the mine owner to sign off on. Customarily, the senior most adventurer handled this duty and honor. She beamed with pride as she attained the required signature, Few adventurer’s of her rank could lay claim to such a feat.

Without the immediate threat of an active assignment overhead Tristan was able to take in the sights and sounds. Beyond the cedar forest the mining town was named for, the leaves of the seasonal trees formed an autumnal collage of red, yellow and orange. The less traveled stretches of the road were partially obscured by the fallen foliage. Birds and small rodents were chirping in the distance, frantically storing what food they could for the harsh winter ahead. As beautiful as it all was, his observations were not enough of a distraction to put his mind at ease. Though distant, the threats that waited on the road ahead were substantial. Preparations needed to be made. He was unaccustomed to having so little to work with. The act of rebellion that spurred their adventure cut them off from the guild’s considerable resources. It was just the two of them against the world, and his sister was never keen on planning or taking unsolicited advice.

Thankfully, they reestablished the trust needed to enable such discussions, as long as he could navigate her defenses. Tristan, ever the observant one, learned from his father’s mistakes. He never lectured his sister. He never felt the need to. He found that with patient guidance, Mo’ would stumble onto the right path on her own volition. He considered this not a form of manipulation but a loving brand of pure understanding.

Their ride north was largely free of distractions. The trail was smooth with no remarkable sights and the outlying wilds were quiet. Besides the odd traveler they passed on the occasional crossroad, the two of them were alone.

He invited her to share stories of her prior adventurers. Now that she had accomplishments of her own to boast of and had won his respect on the fields of battle, she had no qualms regaling him with tales of her earlier assignments. In simpler times, he would have been content to listen to her meandering stories of all the moments he had missed in her life, but the trials ahead called for insights into the knowledge and skills she gained. He expertly inquired into the details of her past missions, prodding for details, asking her input for plans, injecting his own thoughts only when asked.  Over a day and a half, they established a collection of strategies for a host of possible scenarios and a list of both spoken and nonverbal cues for a variety of maneuvers and commands.

Overtime he realized that planning would prove insufficient. Tactics and signals were of no use when caught off guard. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the dread that glaring vulnerability instilled in him. The longer they rode the harder it became to hide his worries behind a mask of optimism.

Late in the morning of the second day, they came across a field of grazing sheep. The large horned males stood ready to ward off predators like wolves and coyotes without the need for a shepherd.  A small farmhouse sat atop the neighboring hill. A wooden fence kept the herd from wandering into the road. A pair of rams followed alongside the fence as the  travelers passed. Their eyes locked on Tristan, as if issuing a challenge.

Completely undeterred by the brazen flock, Tristan saw the solution for the problem that plagued him. Situational awareness was not something that could be taught overnight. It was something gained slowly over many trying battles, but perhaps a little training exercise could establish the baseline she’d need to stay alive long enough to learn properly. “Hold on a second. I want to try something," he said.

"Oh? What are we doing?"

He worried that she would recoil at the thought of training, the insinuation that her skills were lacking, but he said he trusted her. He needed to ler handle the uncomfortable truth of her own limitations and take responsibility for addressing them. Although, he still wasn’t ready to burden her with his limitations just yet. “A practice exercise I used to do with Etelka. It will be fun, I promise.”

“And then, I gave him a good ole one, two!” Morganna said, recounting a mission Tristan asked about. She jabbed the air as she sat on Tilly’s back. The horse flicked her ears in annoyance and huffed, but never slowed pace. Morganna absently patted the mare’s neck, her eyes glistening with remembrance. She always loved people’s reactions when they realized she didn’t need her swords to beat them. She worked pro bono on that mission, finding the karmic reward to be generous enough. The mark refused to return a family heirloom he stole from the local farmer, a farmer who often fed Morganna fresh potatoes. He bet the adventurer the heirloom and his dignity if she bested him in hand-to-hand combat. She grinned as she recalled his stare as he laid flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him before he could yelp in surprise.

She omitted the part where she stripped him of his clothes and wrote the word “Thief” on his chest with tar and feathers. Tristan wouldn’t enjoy that.

With her story over, silence fell upon the pair. She appreciated the surrounding beauty. Autumn wind whistled through shivering treetops, singing soprano to the clop of horse hooves. Leaves glistened like ruby and topaz, sparkling to the rhythm of life. Even the squirrels and critters sang as they scurried across the forest floor, and Morganna hummed to the drumbeat of impending winter. As Tristan’s mouth opened, Morganna wondered if he might join in too.

“Hold on a second. I want to try something,” he said. That wasn’t musical at all. Morganna did her best to hide her disappointment. A small part of her hoped he heard the song, and that today was the day she listened to an angel sing. Even better, she could catch his voice crack on a few notes.

She recovered before he noticed her falter. “Oh? What are we doing?” she asked. Her tone was as level as possible, but she was picturing her brother squawking over a local song. A smirk twitched on the corner of her lips. He excelled at everything else, so he just had to be tone deaf. It’d only be fair.

“A practice exercise I used to do with Etelka. It will be fun, I promise,” he said.

She nodded as he turned away. “Not nearly as fun as what I just pictured,” she mumbled under her breath. She watched him walk away, towards the farmer’s house, and then dismounted Tilly. She tied the horse to a nearby tree and whistled autumn’s song. Her strides were long and careless, wide and exaggerated. Boredom fell upon her within a moment.

The sheep’s bleating grew louder as she approached the fence. The pair of protective rams bristled, braying at her. She wasn’t immature enough to taunt them, but she also wasn’t mature enough to leave them alone. So, she compromised with her warring halves and sat down, cross-legged. She talked to them as if they would understand, telling them stories of golden fleece and journeys across the sea.

She was drawing a boat with a stick, a necessary depiction for the story, when her brother returned. Jumping up, she dusted herself off and beamed, “All ready?”

Tristan walked in on the tail end of story time. Morganna scrambling to her feet disturbed, but did not fully erase her sketches in the dirt. He stifled a laugh at her playfulness, and immediately questioned why he was so quick to dismiss her sense of whimsy. Perhaps all the time watching his father shake his head at such merriment had shaped him more than he realized, more than he wanted. It was a trait he hoped would never leave her. Their mother had held onto her capricious well into her adulthood, and Tristan felt a great emptiness the day he watched it die.

“Almost” he said. He forced a smile in an effort to build on her positive energy. He wanted the moment to be one she would remember fondly. Though he didn’t appreciate it at the time, this had become one his favorite exercises, one he had revisited and built upon many times. He was proud to pass the knowledge on to her. “This will be easier without my armor weighing me down.”

He was accustomed to removing the plate on his own, but it was still a slow, cumbersome process. He removed his gauntlets first, freeing his fingers to work at the remaining straps more easily. He hit a wall when it came time to undo the strap behind his shoulder blades. The tension from several long days of riding in full gear had made him stiff. “Need some help?" Had she offered her help before, he would have thought nothing of it. Adventurers assisting one another in removing their armor was common practice, but the way she waited for him to struggle , it seemed as though she were gloating over him.

“Thank you.” He humbly accepted her help. He acknowledged that him being bested by a strip of leather was an amusing scene. Admitting defeat did not tarnish his pride in the slightest. Even if he could benefit from a bit of stretching, he was far from being a feeble old man.

After he had stripped down to the simple brown tunic he wore under his armor, he rolled the aches and pains out of his knotted muscles the best he could. With each movement mounds of muscle visibly rose and fell under the thin fabric. He explained his plans to her as he loosed up, offering as much insight as he could without risking the loss of her fleeting interest. “Most adventurer combat training focuses on one on one combat against similarly sized opponents, but that’s not at all representative of what you see in the field.” He raised his head to look at her as he hung forward to touch his toes. She nodded in affirmation. For the time being he still had her attention. “Typically you’ll be significantly outnumbered against creatures of all shapes and sizes. Maybe even a dragon.” He did not mean the last bit, but thought it suitable bait to keep her interest.

He shifted his elbows from side to side above his head as he approached their mounts. “I don’t want you to think this about speed or reflexes, because it’s not. Honestly, you’re already faster than me by any measure you’d care to use.” The flattery wasn’t just to string her along. He meant what he said.

He grabbed the covered lantern from a bag secured to Gwendolyn’s saddle. He opened the case and rubbed his palm against the inside, coating his hand with a thick layer of soot. “The key to staying alive is being able to perceive the entire battlefield without any one thing monopolizing your focus. The most dangerous threat is the one you don’t see.”

“That’s my mark,” he said pointing at one of the ewe’s lying on the far side of the field. “Observe.” Though he lacked the grace of his master, he was confident that he could put on an impressive display after a proper warm up. The rams guarding the perimeter stepped back when Tristan challenged their bravado by stepping onto the bottom rail of the fence. It almost felt like cheating. Such intimidation tactics would not work for his smaller sister. Of course, she had plenty of strengths of her own to rely on.

By the time the rams had regained their composure and butted their heads against the fence posts Tristan had landed safely behind them. Being forty pounds lighter than he was accustomed to, Tristan put several long strides between him and goats before they could turn around in pursuit.

A dozen more adult males waited ahead of him, mixed between twice as many ewes and lambs. Most of the herd was slow to respond, surprised by such a bold interruption and unsure how to interpret what was happening. Some tried to pressure him by charging forward while others tried to flee. The remainder stood or laid idle, blocking the path of their more action oriented peers. Tristan predicted this lack of coordination and was able to exploit it to strafe by the bulk of rams that overcommitted to their advance. A few had been more tactical and were able to adjust their attack in accordance with his trajectory, but they were small enough in number for him to juke or stiff arm as they approached. He quickly gained ground on the sheep he marked as it had to stop and double back to navigate through the shifting blockade of wool before it.

Though he had cleared the initial wave of defenders he knew to glance back periodically behind him for when they recovered. The sheep lacked the organization to surround him purposefully, but it was still a possibility if he was careless. He turned around suddenly, forcing a pair that was trying to hit him from the side to slow down to avoid collision with a huddle it’s passive companions. Then he slid between a closing gap between a procession of darting females. Before long he stood over his mark. He rose his hand high in triumph above it before bringing it down. He slowed his hand down just before impact to avoid harm, slapping it’s back just hard enough to leave a clear black print. He kept the pressure on as it fled, leaving a long streak across its back. Rather than take the easy way out by hopping the fence a few feet ahead of him, he doubled back to complete his presentation. Once safe on the other side he wiped the sweat from his brow and placed his hands atop his head to catch his breath. “Your turn” he said between breaths, his face bearing his first authentic smile of their journey. “Bring it back to me.”

Morganna watched her brother dodge and dart through the sheep, her lips twisted in something mixed between amusement and confusion. Without his armor encumbering him, he was almost as agile as she was. Pride and competition pulsed in her veins, born out of admiration and her ever-constant need to be number one. She held the jar of soot, ready to dig in and mark her own sheep when he returned. She assumed that was the reason for this exercise: to slap a sheep on the ass. So, when Tristan came back and told her to go catch the sheep instead, an adage about assuming and asses pierced her mind.

“You want me to do what?” She asked, disbelieving. Tristan repeated the mission and Morganna’s nose wrinkled. “You want me… to catch… a sheep,” her words were slow, allowing him to interject and correct the crazy notion whenever he felt the need to. He didn’t. “That sheep?” She pointed at the one who was bolting around the pasture with a dark, trailing hand mark on its fleece. She huffed and put the container of soot away.

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” she said with confidence and ignorance. She took off her weapons and set them beside Tilly. Then, with a hup over the fence, she began her training.

The flock was on guard when she entered the pasture. Rams brayed with warning whilst their mates withdrew. The males bowed their heads and scratched at the dirt with their hooves, but Morganna’s eyes focused on the dark mark in the field's corner. Her muscles coiled as her predatory instincts kicked in, her pupils dilated and a low growl vibrated her teeth.

She sprung and transformed into lightning incarnate. Her footsteps were thunder, streaking across the field in a flurry of zigzags. A few rams charged at her, but she spun out of their way. More seconds passed, and she was nearly there. Her vision narrowed, focused on the hand print ahead. She stretched out, reaching and panting…

And then she was flying across the field, pain throbbing in her side and the breath knocked out of her. A ram took advantage of her inattentiveness and catapulted her away from its mate. She hit the ground with a defeated thud, bouncing off her padded rear a few times before skidding to a stop. Her cheeks flushed with adrenaline and embarrassment. And, sitting upright, she gave it an angry glare.

But she didn’t have time for a staring contest. The marked ewe put distance between them, taking advantage of the ram’s brave effort, and Morganna had to catch up. Ignoring her throbbing side, she jumped to her feet and took off again. She learned a painful lesson and kept an eye out for any defending males, eyes darting back and forth as she closed in on her prey.

The closer she got, the more her vision narrowed, and once again the wind knocked out of her as a different ram head-butted her. This pattern of correction, inattention, pain, and anger repeated until she let out a frustrated scream. She opened her hand, and a spell danced on her palm. Her magic wasn’t powerful, but it was enough to fry up a few of these bastards. Her bruised body demanded vengeance, and this stupid marked sheep wouldn’t hold still. That arrogant ram, the one with its head down and hooves pounding, was her first mark, and she was about to turn it into dinner.

Through the haze of fury, she knew her temper was getting the better of her. Worsley, she knew her brother was watching her tantrum. Shame cooled her anger. Her spell fizzled into nothingness. Her spunk faded, and, despite dodging a few attacking sheep, one could see her lack-luster movements. She made her way back to the horses and her brother, jumping over the fence and avoiding one head-butting pursuer.

“This is fucking stupid,” she complained, ripping a waterskin off Tilly’s saddle. Sweat glistened off her bruised skin. Morganna stomped towards the shade and sat down like a petulant child, brooding and glaring at the pasture.

Tristan underestimated her raw ability. She was faster than he remembered. It occurred to him then that she was just a child the last time he saw her run at full speed. He wondered how else he had missed in his years away from home.

For a moment it seemed as though this exercise would be a waste of time. He would look rather sheepish if she succeeded on her first attempt. Though he still hoped that she would. Then he could attribute what happened in the cave to first time jitters. Unfortunately, His original assessment was affirmed when she toppled by the first collision. He winced in empathy as he recalled the first time one had rammed him in the ribs twelve years prior. This would be a long and painful lesson.

He watched intently, searching for signs of the small breakthroughs that would incrementally build to success. She was talented and more experienced than Tristan was when he first tried the exercise, so he expected her to pick it up quickly. He failed to fully account for her being less patient and humble as well. She lacked the demeanor to tolerate being knocked around and humiliated for days on end.The sun had hardly moved from when she began to when she gave into her frustration.

He joined her in the shade of the giant oak. Instead of sitting beside her as he often did when listening to her problems, he stood looming over her. He rarely disagreed with Mo’, at least not aloud. He preferred to guide her with the invisible hand of a quiet example. Even now he suspected that a tale of his own shortcoming and later success would piece together her shallow ego. Then telling her how he took to master the task would stoke the fires of motivation. She’d predictably rush in eager to beat his record.

It dawned on him that there was more at stake than sparing his sister’s feelings. He had stumbled through the motions of this dance too many times. She would stray from the path, and he would nudge her along until he met resistance, only to ease up and watch helplessly as she drifted further away. His reluctance to be firm put her in harm’s way once already, he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. It wasn’t enough for her to complete the lesson for fun or a vain attempt to best him. She needed to understand the importance of the skill he was teaching. She needed to understand the perils of the path they were walking on. His voice was soft and tinged with fear. “It’s not stupid. “If that ewe was a hostage that needed saving, and those rams enemy cavalry, you'd both be dead." The event unfolded graphically in his mind as he described it to her. He heard the thundering hooves as a band of orcs riding black stallions surrounded her. He saw her blood stain the grass on the hill as a spear pierced her side.


Her rebuke was expected, but that didn’t ease the sting. "If that ewe was a hostage and those rams enemy cavalry, I'dda cut 'em down. So, this ain't a real exercise for real battle," she snapped. She took a long swig of water and refused to look at him. Instead, her eyes followed the dancing ewe with the dark mark on its fleece. Her lip curled and she snarled, "Fucking stupid."

He relived the response that met his objections to the task years ago . “What use are you to anyone if you can’t get past a bunch of dumb farm animals? All those fancy oaths of vows of yours are worthless without the strength to back them up. So either toss aside any hopes you had of being a hero, or get back in there and figure it out.”

He didn’t have the heart to throw the harsh reality in her face as bluntly as his mentor. But that didn’t change the fact thatIf she couldn’t best a flock of mindless sheep she certainly wouldn’t hold her own against a trained battalion, no matter how much gusto she put into it. "And how do you plan to cut down what you don't see coming?" He asked.

She turned and gave him a burning stare, "I'd see it coming."

In the past, when the real danger seemed so far away, this was the point where he’d yield to her temper. Now his back was against a cliff. He refused to lead her to her death, even if it meant jeopardizing the relationship that they just began to mend. In a rare moment, frustration seeped into his voice as he sternly said "Like you saw the rock?"

She jumped up to her feet, angry with her failure and furious for being called out on it, "It worked out fine, didn't it?" She yelled.

He paused. He averted his eyes towards the ground before whispering "This time."

Her eyes narrowed, "Whaddya think is gonna happen next time, Trist?" Challenge rang in her words, an ominous bell in the midst of bleating livestock. "Go ahead, say it," she said through a sneer, as if she already guessed what was coming.

“Someone I love very deeply will get hurt.”

She stared for a few seconds, shocked at his vulnerability. Again, shame seeped into her skin and painted her cheeks red. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that she wasn't talking with their father. Her anger dissolved, but she held onto its threads. She still had her dignity to defend, after all, and she did that with her temper. So, she sat down, moody but not nearly as violent.

"What am I supposed to do, Trist?" She asked, her voice softer than before, "It's not like I can grow another set of eyes."

Now that she was open to his advice, he realized that he was sorely lacking in it. Mo’ was his first student, and his teachers had never been great at explaining their thoughts. He knew that “Figure it out” or “Get your head out of your ass,” would be ineffective. This was a harder concept to explain than repeating the straightforward principles and techniques from the swordplay lessons of their childhood.

He sat down next to her. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts. “It’s not about growing a third eye. It’s more like…” Even planning ahead, he tripped over the ridiculousness of the idea. “Having a second brain."

Morganna snorted a laugh, and purposefully eyed his head and then towards his trousers, "Ya got the advantage there."

His face flushed red with embarrassment and he was once again at a loss for words over the shattering of the illusion of her innocence. "Yes, well, any how,” he stammered before regaining his composure.. “When you don’t have a primary objective or target you are more aware of your surroundings. When something warrants your full attention you focus on that one thing so you can respond better. The secret is keeping both mindsets at the same time.” He knew that was easier said than done, and he saw the defeatist in her ready to rile up again. He needed to find some inspiration. “You use two swords. One in each hand. It’s kind of like that.” He knew the analogy was shaky at best and hoped she wouldn’t question it.

"That took a lot of practice," she admitted, and her fingers stung as they remembered her first movements with two swords. There was a lot of pain before there was progress. But now, The Primordial and Lightbreaker were like extensions of herself, and she couldn't imagine going to battle without either of them. She groaned and laid flat on her back. "This is gonna suck."

He looked down at her and smiled faintly. He knew in time that she would spring back up to start again. He also knew the burden of carrying on despite being battered and broken. There was merit in such perseverance, but that wasn’t part of the lesson. Or at least it didn’t have to be. He imagined their father lecturing them for being too soft on her as he put his hand on her side. Healing magic flowed from his hand like the water from a hot spring, soothing her aches and pains as it spread from the point of contact to the rest of her body. “It will be better if you start fresh.”

Her feet trampled the grass beneath them, determination fueling her legs with abandon. Blackness consumed her peripheral as she approached the ewe, but this time, she deliberately turned her head towards the closest projected ram. Its bowed head charged her, and she pushed off her left ankle to roll out of its warpath. The ewe gained a few feet while Morganna dodge the ram, but she closed that distance with little difficulty. She reached out, its soft fleece cushioning her fingers, and clenched with a dead man’s grasp.



The sheep bleated in complaint as they both came to a stop. A triumphant smile widened her face as she scrambled to cradle the sheep. “I did it!” She yelled, grabbing it and pulling it to her chest. She turned to Tristan, raising the sheep above her head and screaming, “I got i—OOF!”



Her ribcage cracked as another ram tackled her. She dropped the sheep and tumbled to the ground. “You mother…” she started, but reigned in her temper. She clutched her side and sprung to her feet, wincing. She again noted the ewe’s location and the aggressive males’ and then took off again.



Getting the ewe wasn’t an issue anymore, but bringing it back was much more difficult. Her rib pain was exquisite, and she didn’t need a doctor to tell her that one cracked. But she still had a mission. She couldn’t let down her brother again. So, despite the ewe’s weight yanking painful strings on her ribs, she pushed through.



The sun was setting, turning into a brilliant display of oranges, reds, and pinks, before she brought her captive to Tristan. Dirt and sweat caked her face, breathing was difficult, and her side was turning an ugly shade of purple. But she gently set the ewe down on the other side of the fence, still holding onto part of its fleece, and awkwardly followed it to the other side. Her exhaustion was apparent despite her grin.



“Ha, got ‘em!” She declared, even as the ewe bleated and tried to tug away.

It was difficult for Tristan to watch her bloodied and broken figure repeatedly rise only to get struck down moments before victory. The hours seemed to drag on for months. He averted his gaze whenever he saw a collision was imminent. Even looking away his stomach lurched at the sound of each thud. He had delivered bruises upon her many times during their sword lessons, but never before had he pushed her this hard. He faced the hard truth that the path they were on meant they couldn’t take training lightly anymore.

As much as seeing her in pain unsettled him he couldn’t shake the pride he had for her determination. Though their motives and methods differed, the siblings shared an insatiable drive to do better. Even among adventurers it was a rare trait, few could outrun complacency and corruption indefinitely.

“I knew you could do it.” Tristan acknowledged her triumphant return with a weak laugh. His concern overshadowed his excitement. “Let me patch you up.” He offered. Using his healing hands a second time in the same afternoon exhausted him. He lacked the strength to fully heal all the contusions the prolonged beating had given her. His magical reserves were not what they ought to be for as long as they had to recover, an issue he’d have to resolve before they entered the dangerous mountain pass that lay ahead. Fortunately he knew of a place not too far from where they were, but they had more business to tend to on the farm first.

After healing Mo’ the best he could, he rose to his feat and approached the farm house, explaining as he went. “I had the farmer’s wife set out food for us and the livestock.” When he returned with the baskets of food he took a bag of grain and tossed another to his sister. “Time to make amends,” he said before walking over to feed one of the rams.