Morning came altogether too quickly as Hazel gently shook her awake. In the hazy overlap between sleep and wakefulness Morwyn could almost taste the tea about which she'd been dreaming, an aromatic blend of herbs with just a dash of honey. Mother had always made it for her when she was sick or exhausted from working on the homestead. Those days, and mother's tea, were far behind her and a new road lay ahead. She stretched and groaned as her body protested the movement. Although her limbs were stiff and her muscles were sore, the pain of her wounds had dulled overnight to a dull throb. She opened her eyes to see a blurry Hazel darting about the tent stuffing various items into her luggage.
“C'mon now, up and at 'em. We'll be on the move soon and I've still got plenty to pack up,” Hazel said with a tone that was altogether too cheery for the crack of dawn. “Wouldn't mind some help once you're dressed, if you're up to it of course!”
Morwyn rubbed her eyes and forced herself out of bed with a grunt. She hurried to dress and got two of the buttons on her new trousers mixed up for a moment before straightening them out. Hazel's belongings were already halfway packed by the time she was clothed and armored with her sword on her hip. The sprawl of vials and herbs and well-worn books fit neatly into a variety of chests and trunks that the small woman had stacked neatly on the tall grass outside the tent.
“Seems your medicine isn't the only thing that works quickly,” Morwyn said with a small smile as she pinned on her new cloak and stepped outside to load the cargo into the back of Hazel's adjacent wagon. The halfling chuckled as she packed up the bedding and cots into tight bundles.
“Lots of practice,” she said as she dusted off her hands and wiped sweat from her brow. “I was on the road for a long time before I stumbled upon this caravan. My folks were traveling healers before they passed, gods rest their weary bones, and I carried on the work myself once they were gone. You might say I've not really known much else.”
“I know what you mean,” Morwyn grunted as she lifted a rather heavy chest into the wagon. She was impressed that the halfling had been able to move the thing by herself. “Once you've been on the road long enough, your routine becomes second nature.”
“Indeed it does! Though I will surely be grateful to finally have a place to settle down when we get to our destination. Imagine unpacking your things for the last time and just... leaving them out! Accessible at all times!” Morwyn laughed as Hazel put her hands to the side of her head and flashed them outward as she looked up to the sky with mock amazement. The halfling's energy was infectious and Morwyn couldn't help but admire her enthusiasm. Once they'd finished loading the last of the luggage onto the wagon with the tent and poles laid neatly atop it all, Morwyn slipped her hand into the pocket of her trousers and withdrew the extra vial of pain medicine from the night before.
“I didn't end up needing this last night, do you want it back in case someone else needs it later?”
Hazel raised one eyebrow and gave her and appraising look.
“Hmm... you are a tough one, aren't you? We'll see how tough you are after the day's march. Hold onto it... just in case.” The halfling's perpetually jolly expression darkened and she took one of Morwyn's hands in both of her own. “None of those who have made the journey before have told us the details of what lies between us and our new home, but I've heard rumors about the eastern frontier... rough terrain, wild creatures, harsh weather... We'll need you at your best. Don't injure yourself again by trying to push through the pain. You heard Rennock the other night. Our journey is just beginning.”
Morwyn was a bit taken aback by the sudden seriousness in Hazel's tone and gave her a brief nod before slipping the vial into her haversack rather than her pocket. She frowned and hesitated for a moment as she hefted her pack in one hand, considering it critically.
“Sound advice, Hazel. I'll do my best to follow it. Starting with this,” she said, motioning to the pack. “Do you mind if I leave this with you while we travel?” Hazel's winning smile returned in a flash.
“Of course I don't mind! Take the weight off, it'll make the walking easier. I must say I don't envy you caravan guards. At least I get to ride on my wagon as we journey into the unknown!”
Morwyn thanked her and secured her pack in the back of the wagon as Hazel climbed up a miniature ladder to take her place on the bench beside her driver, the teenage son of a family that Morwyn hadn't been acquainted with yet. The noise of the rest of the group breaking camp continued around them and based on the state of the nearby wagons she gauged that they wouldn't be ready for another half hour at the earliest. She unstrapped her canteen from the pack and considered retrieving her coffee kit as well when she saw the looming figure of Argoth approaching from the front of the line. She quickly retrieved a bundle of trail rations before she hopped down off the wagon once more and made her way toward him.
A sliver of anxiety nagged at her as she left her equipment behind in Hazel's care. She had no logical reason to mistrust the healer whatsoever but it was still uncomfortable entrusting it to someone that was still very much a stranger to her. The few meager possessions she owned in this world lay in that rugged, weather-worn rucksack, with one tattered old book meaning more to her than all the rest. Though she'd made many new connections among the caravaneers and had grown to trust and respect her fellow guards, she'd still only known them for a week. She couldn't shed years of self-reliance in just a few days regardless of circumstance, but even as her mind lingered on the issue her shoulders and knees thanked her silently.
Argoth met her near the center of the column and gave her a nod, turning to appraise the caravan's readiness for a moment before he spoke.
“We're down two guards,” he grumbled as he cracked his knuckles and rolled his thick neck. “Glad to see you're really on your feet. Eronir and Trux will need to ride for now.”
“Trux still has her crossbow, so she's not totally out of commission.” Morwyn gestured toward a wagon several back from the center where Gildur gave Trux a hand up onto the seat beside him. “She should probably let Gildur load it for her, but from what I know about her, you'd have as much luck telling her so as you would convincing a boulder to fly.”
Argoth chuckled but there was none of the good humor from the night before. He was all business at the moment.
“Eronir's leg will be more of a problem. The proud bastard would march himself into the ground before he'd complain, but his wound is deep despite the potions. I've ordered him off duty until it heals properly. So unless you've got more of those healing scrolls...” Argoth let the question linger in the air for a moment. Morwyn frowned and shook her head, though the orc didn't look surprised. “Well, that settles it. Just you and me on full duty for a while while the others recover.”
“Should I take Eronir's place up at the front, then?” Morwyn asked as she ate some of the dried fruit from her ration. Argoth considered her question for a moment and then nodded.
“Aye, that'll work. I was gonna to take the lead today as we're heading into town, but with the trouble at Whitewater Crossing...” His voice trailed off as he looked to the road behind them. Morwyn followed his gaze as she took a swig from her canteen.
“You think there might be more of them out there?”
Argoth didn't respond but from the way his right hand flexed, Morwyn was fairly certain he believed that to be the case. She didn't envy any man fool enough to seek vengeance on the caravan with Argoth at the ready.
“We should reach Lonely Harbor before sundown,” Argoth mused, still somewhat distracted as he gazed back to the west. “You're on point until we reach the town. Rennock has an understandin' with the folks in charge there, so it's relatively safe. Once we have the camp established you're free to do as you like until we set off for the Narrows. Unless you're having second thoughts about the journey, that is. Lonely Harbor is your last chance to safely part ways.”
Morwyn nearly choked on a piece of jerky. She hadn't expected him to put her on the spot so openly. Her cheeks reddened as she fought to clear her throat and a spark of indignation welled up from deep inside her. She took a moment to collect herself before she replied.
“I've come to begrudgingly accept the fact that you can't or won't tell me about our destination. Though I don't understand why that is, I trust you and Trux and the others when you say it's worth the risk. I'm no coward. I'll see this through.”
Argoth's stern face broke into a wide grin. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She could feel the chain-mail grinding together under his massive hand.
“I know you will. Just had to be sure you knew it. Now, get to the front and keep your wits about you. Rennock likes to sing as we travel. Drives me barkin' mad, personally.”
***
The weather was clear and crisp with the scent of vibrant wildflowers blooming on the roadside. Every step, every turn of the wheel, brought them nearer to the ocean as the imposing mountains to the north loomed ever closer to the shoreline.
Rennock did enjoy serenading the countryside as he drove his wagon at the front, though Morwyn didn't think it was half as bad as Argoth made it out to be. Perhaps a quarter as bad. He mostly kept on tune, though she didn't recognize any of the songs that the old wizard half hummed, half murmured as she kept a steady pace beside him. Eronir sat on the driver's bench beside Rennock and scanned the terrain to all sides. By his sour expression the elf was clearly upset at being forced to ride.
“Rennock, how long are we to be at Lonely Harbor? I imagine the caravan needs to rest and resupply before we face the Narrows.”
The old wizard's humming trailed off as he gazed at the tiny smoke trails indicating the town in the far distance. His head tilted ever so slightly as he gave Eronir a lengthy side-eye. The elf didn't react, but Morwyn saw his posture tense slightly as he kept a watchful eye on the road ahead.
“We typically rest there only as long as it takes to restock our provisions and parts to repair the wagons,” Rennock answered, puffing on his pipe for a moment before he continued. “Yet given the present circumstances, I believe we should take a longer pause than usual, perhaps two nights. There is flexibility in our schedule to accommodate for... unfortunate circumstances.”
Morwyn shot a quick glance to Eronir, but as usual the elf didn't react. She could sense that perhaps his pride was more wounded than his leg, though she understood the abundance of caution. With only four professional warriors in the caravan, every one of them was crucial. She'd seen that first hand at Whitewater Crossing.
“Is there anything that you need of me when we reach town?” Morwyn asked, attempting to change the subject in order to spare Eronir any further reminder of his condition. Before Rennock could answer, Eronir suddenly sat up straight and placed one hand on the old man's shoulder.
“Movement ahead. Left side of the road, something big darted behind the cluster of rocks atop that hill.” The elf pointed his spear ahead with a steady hand. Rennock tensed the reins which slowed his oxen to an easy walk but didn't pull his wagon to a halt. His brows furrowed as he shaded his eyes with one hand against the mid-morning sun. Morwyn tried to follow their gaze but as she was on foot she could only make out the top of a one boulder above the tall grass.
“How big?” she asked, one hand drifting to the hilt of her sword.
“Larger than a wolf, smaller than a bear,” Eronir replied. His eyes quickly darted to the other side of the road to keep from fixating on one potential threat. Satisfied that nothing was on the right, he turned back to Rennock once more. “Worg, I think. Hard to say from this distance.”
Morwyn unconsciously ran a hand down her left hip. Though it had been years, she still remembered the strength of those creatures' jaws. She shuddered involuntarily before slipping her mail-backed gloves from her belt and tugging them on her hands.
“Any idea on numbers?” she asked, keeping her voice from wavering with some effort. The only time she'd faced such a beast it had been alone and wounded by a hunter's arrow and it had still put up one hell of a fight.
“Five,” Rennock murmured. He had two fingers from each hand on his temples now. “Two on the left, three on the right hiding in a dry creek bed.”
Morwyn was perturbed to note that his eyes were closed, but didn't think it was the right moment to question how he knew. The seat of the wagon creaked as Eronir shifted to his right, clearly intent on departing the wagon. Rennock held out a hand to stop him.
“No, my friend, save your strength. Morwyn and I shall handle this. Halt the caravan here. This will not delay us. I will signal you to continue onward.”
Morwyn half expected Eronir to protest but he simply nodded and took the reins. He shifted to the center of the bench as Rennock nimbly disembarked and took up an easy pace at Morwyn's side. She was half tempted to ask him if they should alert Argoth to the danger but an odd glint in the old man's eye told her not to bother. He beckoned for her to follow him as his long strides quickly made distance ahead of the lead wagon. She unclasped her cloak and tossed it onto the bench beside Eronir before following Rennock at a trot, her brows furrowing with confusion.
“Though I did not witness it myself, the others told me that you are quite skillful with that blade of yours,” Rennock said in an oddly jovial tone. “Where did you learn your craft?”
“My father,” she responded. “He was a warrior of the sea in his youth, before he met my mother. He made sure all of his children learned to fight, to protect ourselves and our family.”
Rennock nodded sagely, placing one palm on his chin and cracking his bony neck several times.
“An unfortunate task, to raise youth in such a manner. But such is the world we live in, and we are fortunate to have his skills live on through you.”
Morwyn wasn't sure what to make of that. She gave the man a sidelong glance before turning her attention back to the road ahead, senses alert for any sign of danger.
“What exactly is the plan here, Rennock?” she asked, pushing her sword slightly out of its scabbard with her thumb. “I don't particularly like the idea of walking into another ambush...”
He looked back toward the wagons trailing behind them and nodded to himself before abruptly halting in the middle of the road. Morwyn skidded to a stop beside him, bewildered.
“Eronir prefers that I do not do this in his proximity,” Rennock explained unhelpfully. “I am giving us the element of surprise.”
Morwyn brought her hands up in an exasperated shrug.
“When you do what in his proximity?” she said tersely, her tone rising a bit more than she intended. Rennock gave her a gleeful grin and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“This,” he said simply, and the world exploded into a flash of blue and white light.
A thunderous boom reverberated deep in her chest. Morwyn shielded her eyes and staggered back, but rather than impacting upon the dirt road she expected her foot found nothing and dangled back into open space. She felt Rennock's iron grip on her shoulder keeping her from tumbling backwards. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the afterimages burned into her vision and just caught the remnants of flickering lightning crackling in every direction for several yards around them. The pained howls of bestial creatures reached her ears through the ringing. She realized a moment later that they stood atop a boulder surrounded by smaller stones protruding from the grass... the rock formation they had seen from the road.
“Better finish that one off before it recovers,” Rennock said calmly, pointing down with his free hand. Morwyn's eyes grew wide as she saw a worg, easily three hundred pounds of fury and fang, twitching erratically as it thrashed on the ground beneath them. She whipped her sword from its scabbard and inverted the blade in both hands. On instinct she leapt down upon it, driving her blade to the cross-guard in its chest just behind the front shoulder.
She felt the tip of her sword punch through the other side of its torso and lodge firmly in the earth beneath it. The worg howled in mortal agony and thrashed to escape the new source of pain, but she heaved down her full weight on the hilt to keep it from twisting around to bite her. Its massive jaws snapped a few scant inches from her face, but her aim had been true. The monstrous, wolf-like creature's blood gushed from its mouth and out of the wound. She gritted her teeth, eyes burning, heart pounding, sweat dripping from the sudden exertion. Its thrashing grew weaker and weaker until with one final guttural grunt it shuddered and its body went slack. Morwyn, her chest heaving, turned her manic gaze to Rennock.
“Why the bloody hells did you do that?” she shouted up at him.
Rennock gave her an innocent smile with one eyebrow raised.
“Quite the rush, is it not? I have done nothing but parlor tricks for so long, it feels wonderful to use real magic.”
Morwyn looked at him with dumbfounded horror. The old man was having fun!
She yanked on the hilt of her sword and found it to be stuck fast. Panicking, she used it as a handhold to climb atop the worg's chest for better leverage. She could hear the growls and yelps of the other creature on the other side of the boulder become more enraged than startled.
“The other three are on their way, they will be here in a minute or two,” Rennock called to her, casually stretching his shoulders over his head as if limbering himself to pick up a heavy weight. Morwyn heaved on the hilt of her sword and felt it slide up several inches. Once the fuller was exposed it pulled free with less effort and she leapt off the beast and on to solid ground. She glanced up once more just in time to see the second worg leaping against the boulder and snapping its jaws at Rennock's feet. She cried out in alarm and charged forward, her crimson blade flashing in the sunlight.
The old wizard turned toward the creature with an expression of mild surprise, taking a step back as he brought both hands to the side of his waist, palms facing each other several inches apart. A small ball of fire ignited between them and he thrust his hands forward in a flash. A jet of searing flame gushed forth with a roar and enveloped the worg's head and neck. The creature made no sound other than its heavy body thudding to the ground, paws thrashing, the rest of its body not yet understanding that it was already dead. The blackened head was charred to the bone, all fur and flesh immolated.
Morwyn's stomach churned at the sight and she gaped at Rennock, who simply patted one of his long sleeves that had been singed.
“Who are you?” she exclaimed, the tip of her blade falling to rest on the smoldering grass in front of her.
“Your employer and your comrade,” came Rennock's measured response, his kindly face an emotionless mask for once. He slid down the shallower side of the bolder and took several long strides forward, standing tall in front of her. “You trust Argoth and the others, that much is clear after the battle for the bridge. Yet you are not sure of me and for that I cannot fault you. It is my job to be vague. I simply wish for you to trust that I have both the desire and the ability to look out for you and the well-being of the caravan. That this is not just some fool's errand, but an important trial.”
Morwyn let out an incredulous laugh, not sure whether to be relieved or to run from the crazy old man with all haste.
“You are an odd one, Rennock...” She shook her head in bewilderment, unsure of what else to say. The old man's warm smile returned and he reached forward to place a hand on her elbow. The chain-mail clinked softly at his touch.
“To be fair, this is not the usual procedure,” he admitted, gently turning her to face the other direction as he stood by her side. “But these are not usual times.”
Morwyn gulped as she saw three massive forms tearing across the road several hundred yards away. The worgs howled for blood as they raced up the slope.
Rennock's voice echoed in her mind, rather than her ears.
*This is Rennock. I have seen enough to trust you, Morwyn. Trust in me.*
Involuntarily, the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile when he announced himself as he had before. The old wizard was barking mad, yet she couldn't help but feel strangely reassured by his presence anyway. She drew several deep breaths as the worgs drew closer. The beasts would be on them in less than a minute. She stepped forward to place herself in front of the charging monsters, her sword held level in front of her.
“Have any other tricks up your sleeve, you old coot?”
Rennock laughed heartily, dispelling any fear that her insubordinate comment might anger him. He took several steps back and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his wiry forearms.
“More than a few!” he said with renewed vigor. The wizard punched his arms into the air and half a dozen bolts of blue-white light shot forth, whistling as they streaked towards the lead worg. A second before impact they curved high into the air then slammed straight down into the beast from above as it loped towards them with incredible speed. Every bolt hit its mark with unerring accuracy, punching holes through its thick hide and detonating inside it with muted explosions. The creature slammed into the earth and tumbled head over tail several times before skidding to a dead stop, its body not much more than a pile of loosely worg-shaped pulp.
Morwyn didn't have time to marvel at the display. She braced herself and tensed her legs as the next worg charged her with a snarl. Though her instincts told her to run for the cover of one of the rock outcroppings, she knew better than to try and risk getting caught off balance. She drew in short, rapid breaths and tightened her grip on her sword as she waited for the worg to draw in close. At last it leapt into the air, intent on knocking her to the ground before savaging her with its massive jaws.
She timed her movement for when its paws left the ground but miscalculated its path. Though her deep lunging sidestep brought her out of the monster's way, her backhand slash was shallow and only the tip of her blade sliced into the creature's hide, drawing blood but not severing muscle or tendon. It barreled past her and crashed into the boulder beyond with a snarl. Morwyn rose to her feet just as the third and final worg slammed into her from the side, sending her sprawling to the ground. It whirled around and pounced, its slavering jowls closing in toward her head.
Prone on her back, Morwyn could do little more than whip her sword above her head in a desperate arc to meet it. She felt the blade contact its head, cleaving soft flesh and bouncing off of bone, though she wasn't sure where she'd struck. The beast loosed a savage yowl of pain as she rolled to the side and came up on her feet. The worg she'd struck last had a bloody gash splitting the left side of its nose to the bone of its upper jaw. It shook its head back and forth, flinging strings of blood across the stones and grass before turning a murderous glare at the prey that had dared to fight back.
Morwyn could see the other worg had turned its attention to Rennock and was biting back and forth at the old man, whose form was difficult to make out. It seemed that whenever the beast snapped its jaws down where he should be, he was a step or two to the right or left, just out of reach. Occasionally he would slap a hand against its snout with a burst of flame and it recoiled in pain.
Seeing he was holding his own for the moment, Morwyn focused on the enemy in front of her. The worg, having recovered from the shock of its wound, approached her more slowly. It didn't allow her to take advantage of a headlong rush to pivot out of the way. Instead it circled, snarling, closing with her even as she backed up to try and make distance. In a panic, she wished more than anything for a spear or some other pole-arm to keep it at bay. When it did make its attack no amount of footwork would keep her away from those gnashing teeth.
She tried to keep her eyes focused on the worg's center in order to determine which direction it would lunge. Her heart leapt into her throat as her foot slipped on the grass behind her, wet with blood from the first worg she'd killed. Sensing its opportunity, her opponent darted forward and clamped its jaws down on her left shoulder and upper arm.
Gildur's chain-mail held against the savage bite, though the immense pressure caused it to dig deeply into the arming doublet and flesh beneath. Morwyn let out a cry of pain as the beast shook its head back and forth in an attempt to rip off her limb. She was only dimly aware that it was unable to do so only because of the slash to its mouth. She felt her collarbone snap under the pressure and the world threatened to go black, but a sudden burst of adrenaline turned her scream of pain into one of fierce anger. She drove her left knee and right boot into the ground as best she could for purchase and slammed her sword's cross-guard against the side of the beast's head with all her might.
On the fourth blow, the polished steel of her cross-guard found its mark and punctured the worg's eye. Her mailed fist kept the guard from sinking all the way, but the effect was immediate. The worg tore its grip from her shoulder along with a handful of split steel rings, cloth, and flesh, though blessedly less than she expected. It reared back with a deafening yelp, thrashing violently as it pawed at its blood-soaked face and stumbled to one side trying to back away. Wasting no time, Morwyn used her sword as a cane to help her stand, her left arm hanging uselessly at her side as blood seeped through the torn fabric of her tunic.
With a cry of rage, she rushed the short distance between them and threw all of her strength into a wild backhand slash at the base of the worg's skull. As the sword began its arc, she felt a shuddering chill shoot up her arm just before the blade connected with its body. Rather than simply slashing deeply into its flesh, the sword passed cleanly through hide, muscle, sinew, and bone and nearly severed the thick neck. Morwyn stumbled into its shoulder, having thrown so much momentum into the swing and having met such little resistance. She bounced back a step and nearly fell as the worg reared reflexively, the reaction tearing the remaining flesh holding its head attached and sending it tumbling down the hill. Hot blood sprayed out across the prairie, darkening the grass in huge spurts.
Morwyn heaved several deep breaths, her eyes wide and dilated, then flinched as an explosion from behind the boulder ripped through the air. The shockwave flattened the grass for a dozen yards in all directions. She lurched to her feet and stumbled around the large rock.
“Rennock!” she shouted, disoriented and blinking blood and sweat from her eyes. When she rounded the corner, she saw a shredded, bloody sleeve on the ground and her heart stopped for a moment. As she stumbled onward, she breathed such a sigh of relief that it made her head spin.
The old wizard stood beside the smoking ruin of the final worg, frowning and tugging at his robe. One of his sleeves was torn clean off at the shoulder, though the arm beneath appeared unblemished. He didn't even look to see her approach as he spoke.
“The stitching gave out, can you believe that?”
Morwyn let out a startled laugh that turned into a gasp as pain flooded into her shoulder. Rennock's gaze instantly snapped over to her and for a split second she saw his eyes dart down and go wide before a look of concern overtook his features. He rushed to her, rummaging in the pockets of his robe and producing a vial of deep red liquid. Without a word he uncorked the vial and tilted her chin up with one hand, pouring the contents into her mouth with a swift motion.
She struggled to down the potion, pulling back from his grip with a cough as soothing warmth flooded through her body. Most of her body, anyway. Her right arm was still cold down to her fingertips. Had she damaged a nerve? She was distracted from the sensation by the always disconcerting feeling of flesh knitting back together from a healing potion. After a long moment she cautiously tested her left arm. It hurt but she could move it and the bleeding had stopped. Her collarbone still ached fiercely, but the sharp pain began to slowly dull.
Rennock stepped back and considered her with a neutral expression.
“I apologize, Miss Shrike. Perhaps I underestimated the danger to you.”
Morwyn screwed her eyes shut then blinked several times, wiping her face on the long tail of her ruined tunic. She looked up to him with a frown.
“What do you mean? We knew it would be dangerous... but we made it through. I'll have to apologize to Gildur for damaging the armor again-”
Rennock held her gaze for a moment before pointedly looking down once more. Confused, she followed his line of sight down her right arm.
From the elbow down, her arm was coated in a fine layer of white frost. It clung to the pommel, hilt, and cross-guard of her sword as well, though the blade was even more startling. It shimmered with a translucent aura reminiscent of heat waves and the steel itself shone like the deep blue of glacier ice. She flinched at the sight and reflexively dropped the weapon to the ground, her eyes bugging out of her head. The moment it left her hand the sword returned to its normal appearance, though the grass upon which it fell shriveled under the cold steel and the blood beneath it began to freeze.
“What the fuck is that?” she shouted, shaking the ice from her arm and rubbing the unnatural chill from her wrist and fingers. A memory crashed into her unbidden. Heather. The forest clearing. Her knife in the pine, spreading tendrils of frost across the bark.
“I... I... I...” she stuttered in shock.
Rennock suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, pulling her face into his chest and resting his chin on top of her head. She shook against him, unable to move.
“Dear child, I am so sorry.”
She shivered against him for some time, partly from the emotions raging through her, partly from truly feeling cold for the first time in decades. No tears fell, but it took a long moment before she was able to lift her shaking arms to return Rennock's embrace. He positively radiated warmth, driving the chill from her bones and soothing her racing thoughts. After another minute she was able to gently break the embrace and step back. She took off her armored gloves and rubbed her eyes hard.
“Rennock I... I have no idea what that was.”
He studied her face for a moment, his expression softening.
“Has it happened before?” he asked softly.
Morwyn bit her lip, debating with herself for a moment if she should tell him. She'd spent so long with the painful memories quarantined, she wasn't sure she knew how to open that locked and barred door. She looked to his eyes once more and thought she saw a spark there, a fierce kindness. Protective, almost. Dangerously so. She couldn't begin to imagine why she felt that from his look, but she knew without a doubt that she could trust him with the truth. She had to.
“Yes... when I was younger. But nothing like this.”
Rennock took both of her hands in his. From the waves of warmth rolling through her arms, she knew it must be magic of some kind. He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hands. A thought struck her and she raised her eyebrows hopefully.
“You know something...” she said quietly.
Rennock nodded.
“...but you can't tell me, can you?” she finished miserably.
The old wizard seemed to age another decade as he sadly shook his head. Morwyn sighed deeply, shuddering as the last vestiges of the cold left her body, along with her brief flare of hope.
“Morwyn, I know only just enough to raise a thousand more questions. I am deeply sorry, but telling you what I know now would cause more harm than good. Especially if I am wrong.” He cupped her chin with one palm. “Know this, dear one. When we reach my home in the east, I will do everything in my power to give you all the answers I can. Though I do caution you, this information will not come easily, and some may... resist my inquiries.”
Morwyn merely nodded numbly. She rubbed her face with her hands and pulled several deep breaths as her pulse began to rise once more.
“I've suspected for a long time, but it's been impossible to for me to reconcile...” Morwyn whispered hoarsely, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked up at him again. She felt nothing more than a scared child in that moment. Not a warrior, but a lost girl with hope fading before her eyes.
“I'm not human at all, am I?”
Rennock's soft smile never wavered, but he shook his head. He brushed an errant, bloody strand of hair from her forehead.
“Is that really such a bad thing?”
Morwyn was stunned into silence by his answer. Her mind raced with all the implications of the confirmation. The world seemed to spin around her, threatening to topple her over. She'd known. She'd always known, but had fought against it. Railed against it. Desperately hoped against it.
“But my parents-”
“Loved you very much, dear one. I can tell.” Rennock interrupted, wiping a tear from her cheek with his weathered thumb. Morwyn choked back a sob at the thought of her parents, her siblings, her nieces and nephews... everyone that had suffered such hardship because of her. She had one last, desperate thought, one she'd clung to for decades against all reason.
“Are you sure it's not something that... I don't know, skips a few generations?” She knew as soon as the words left her lips that they were a vain hope.
“Morwyn Shrike,” Rennock said, a stern note creeping into his voice now. “It matters not what you are, but who you are. I promise that no matter what we are able to discover, I will keep that firmly in mind. I am certain that your family did. Will you?”
The lump in her throat grew too large for her to speak as a torrent of gratitude rushed through her. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, then gave him a shaky nod. After another deep breath, she raised her chin and nodded more firmly.
“Yes. Yes I will.”
Rennock's hands slipped from her cheeks to her shoulders and he nodded right back at her. He lifted his right hand and inspected the tear in her clothes and armor and the fresh scar exposed beneath. A wry smile began to creep at the corners of his mouth, twitching his wild beard.
“Now, let us handle a few things before I signal to Eronir. This will not do at all.”
Rennock twirled his fingers an inch or two above her shoulder, muttering under his breath as orange and white sparks drifted lazily down onto her. She watched on in amazement as her doublet stitched itself back together before a dozen or so links of broken mail lifted from the grass by the beheaded worg and wove themselves back into place. Over it all, her beautiful blue tunic was mended as well. She was still covered in blood, both her own and the worgs', but she was whole.
The old wizard frowned slightly and poked her sharply on the forehead. A little wave of energy ran down her body and she blinked several times. By the time it reached her toes, all the blood and sweat and dust was gone as if she had never been dirty in the first place. She opened her mouth to speak but wasn't even sure what to ask. Rennock chuckled and stooped to retrieve his sleeve, poking his skinny arm through before mending and cleaning it in the same manner.
“As you will find in the coming days, with magic comes power. With power, responsibility...” He gave her a sly wink. “But also, some very convenient perks.”
Morwyn gave him a tired chuckle and shook her head. He was somehow both wise and a child at the same time. She gingerly retrieved and sheathed her sword, then held out a hand.
“Let's make a deal, Rennock. You don't tell Gildur that I damaged his armor again, and I won't tell Hazel that you were reckless and got me injured.”
She could've sworn the old wizard paled a little bit at that. He shook her hand firmly, agreeing with enthusiasm, then raised one hand to the sky. A streak of green fire shot straight up at least a hundred feet above their heads and burst with a flare of light, signaling the all-clear.