“I think this spot will suffice,” Oak said.

  The tiny clearing next to the road had clearly housed many travelers before them. Countless boots had beaten pathways into the grass and some kind soul had dug a firepit in the middle of the clearing.

  “Oh, thank the Heavens,” Sadia said, and sat down on the ground. The girl had been wobbling on her feet for a good while. She took off her worn-out boots and rubbed the soles of her feet, hissing with pain. The spellsinger in training was so occupied with her blisters that she failed to notice Geezer was standing right behind her, sniffing her hair.

  Sadia clearly had some hard weeks on the road behind her, but it was obvious she was not yet used to walking all day long.

  A city girl, for sure. Not unexpected, for a spellsinger.

  Ur-Namma laid down his own backpack and leaned against a nearby tree, breathing hard. After two weeks of sunlight, exercise, and enough food to fill his belly, the elf didn’t resemble a walking corpse any longer. He was still painfully thin, and walking for most of the day was a struggle, but he no longer looked like he was a single missed meal away from the grave.

  “Let’s get a fire going,” Ur-Namma said. “If nothing else, it will keep any wandering animals away from us.”

  Sadia shuddered. “A fire would be nice. It’s getting colder, now that the sun is going down,” she said. “I can look for some firewood!” The girl put her boots back on with a wince and stood up.

  Oak put his fingers in his ears.

  “Aaaah!”

  The girl had finally realized Geezer was sitting right behind her.

  “By the Hells, keep it down,” Oak muttered as Sadia scrambled away from the curious hellhound, stumbling over her own feet, and dove behind a nearby tree. “And Geezer, stop bothering the little runt. You are doing it on purpose, I can tell.”

  Geezer laid down on the grass and wagged his tail, an expression of pure innocence on his face.

  Oak was not fooled. “I meant what I said. Let her be, for the moment.” He had gone through too much trouble to save the young spellsinger’s life for her to die of fright the next time Geezer surprised her. Diabolists did not grow on trees, and by the Corpse-God, he wanted one on his side. Novice or not.

  Gaining Sadia’s trust would be difficult enough without Geezer constantly scaring the living daylights out of the girl.

  In short order, they filled the firepit with branches, and a bit of pyromancy from Oak set the bonfire alight. Sadia’s eyes widened when she saw him use magic, but the girl kept her questions to herself, for now. She sat on the opposite side of the fire from Geezer, next to Ur-Namma, and shivered.

  “I doubt it ever gets this warm in the North even in the middle of summer,” Oak said, and gave Geezer a scratch behind the ears. “How on earth can you be cold?”

  Sadia glared at him through the flames. “This is downright freezing compared to the summers in Hafa!”

  “Truly? That sounds horrible.” Oak shuddered. If this was cold, he did not want to find out what summer heat in the Muttalib Caliphate, on the southern edge of the continent, felt like. He took pity on the shivering girl and dug up his spare cloak from his rucksack. It was at the very bottom, under their meager food supplies and all the precious rituals in their steel cylinders he and Ur-Namma had plundered from Ma’aseh Merkavah.

  “You are in luck, little spellsinger. I have always gone by the wisdom that when it comes to tools and supplies, two is one. You can borrow my spare cloak.”

  Sadia accepted the offering gladly and pulled the thick wool tight around herself.

  “Oh, this explains so much. How did I not realize this about you sooner?” Ur-Namma’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Sadia dear, just take a look at our friend here. He is a hoarder. The man has enough blades strapped to himself to arm a small village.”

  “Someone wise once said that you can never have too many knives,” Oak replied. “Or swords, for that matter.” He stood up and gave Ur-Namma a meaningful look. “Now that you are all settled, I am going to take Geezer with me and have a look around.” He grabbed the hunting bow and the ten arrows they had bartered for a week ago.

  Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them. Shit. Am I a hoarder?

  “I was just about to suggest that,” Ur-Namma said. “Can you pass me a packet of hardtack before you go?”

  ***

  A forest in the evening was full of the noise of life. Rodents digging in the dirt and climbing trees. The calls of different birds piercing the air. The snapping of twigs somewhere out of sight. Geezer’s tail was wagging joyfully. The hellhound had always enjoyed going on walks, and they had been doing little else for the past two weeks.

  This time, their walk had a different purpose.

  The evening sun still glinted over the treetops, casting the road into shadow. Oak walked near the side of the road, searching for a suitable spot for an ambush. He needed something that would keep him out of sight from the road, but allow him to pop out and send an arrow flying with ease, if he so chose.

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  A thick baobab tree near a bend in the road looked promising, and he made his way to it. The ground behind it was dry and free of underbrush.

  This will do. Time for preparations.

  Even though he had already done it twice on the way here, Oak checked his weapons and tightened every strap and buckle on his person. The last thing he wanted to do in a fight was to reach for a blade and find it missing. In his experience, such mishaps tended to be fatal.

  Geezer watched his battle preparations with a keen eye and grew serious. The hound sat down next to him behind the tree and nudged Oak’s hand with his snout.

  “I don’t know if this is necessary,” Oak said and hugged the dog. “But I would rather be wrong than face an attack in the night.”

  He placed his quiver against the tree and stuck a couple of arrows on the ground, where he could easily reach them. Then he nocked an arrow and settled in to wait.

  Time passed, and the sun sank lower and lower until only the last rays of light illuminated the clouds in the sky. The shadows grew deep and threatening. It was getting dark enough that without the Boon of Darkvision, Oak would have had trouble seeing past twenty paces.

  It really pays to have friends in low places.

  A sound pierced the night air. Then another. Footsteps. Muttered conversation and muffled laughter. Oak’s heart sank, but he tried to hold on to hope. What were the odds the people on the road were just innocent refugees? Or merchants plying their trade? He sighed. By now, he knew not to expect such luck.

  As the group got closer, the Ears of Amdusias fed more details to his mind. Five man sized shapes, all carrying some type of long implement in their hands. The accuracy of his sight through sound was not good enough to tell what weapons the men carried, but armed they were, all the same.

  I will try to be courteous, just this once. Maybe it will make a difference.

  He signaled for Geezer to get ready in case the conversation went badly, and the hellhound circled to the other side of the tree, keeping himself low to the ground and out of sight. It was always good to have some help waiting in the wings.

  Oak popped out of his cover, pulled the string back, and loosed an arrow. When the arrow struck dirt, he already had another one nocked and ready to go.

  “What the shit!” The young man in the front of the group stood in the middle of the road, pitchfork in hand and one foot in the air, staring at the arrow sticking out of the road between his feet. “Hey, guys. Is that an arrow?”

  “No, it’s a magical teleporting stick!” Oak shouted. “What else could it bloody be, but an arrow?” He stepped fully into view, so the group of idiots could see him. “The next one is going through someone's belly.”

  “By the Heavens!” a familiar looking hook-nosed man at the back of the group shouted, fumbling with his hunting bow. The arrow he held on the string slipped from his nervous fingers and fell between his legs. Face red with embarrassment, the man snatched the arrow from the road and nocked it again.

  “Hey, it’s the fucker we are looking for!” exclaimed the rightmost youngster. Blessed with greasy hair, a smattering of acne scars on his forehead, and eyes mother nature had placed just slightly too far apart from each other, the fellow was the picture of youthful stupidity. He waved his mattock at Oak, attempting to channel menace and failing utterly.

  If Oak had thought his heart could not sink any lower, he had been sorely mistaken. The five young men standing on the road were clearly drunk. He could smell the booze oozing off of the villagers. The intellectually challenged bastards were armed with an assortment of farming implements, knives, and the single hunting bow.

  If this comes to blows, you will be the first to go, bowman.

  Oak did not want an arrow through his throat, and you could expect even the average peasant with some hunting experience to nail him from this distance.

  A man dressed in a stained white shirt with no visible holes in it, which was a step above the clothing of his shoddily dressed compatriots, stepped up and raised his voice: “My name is Besnik. Are you the man called Oak?”

  “I am.”

  “The man who punched priestess Zerina in the face and sullied the honor of our village?”

  “The very same.”

  Besnik buffed his chest, boyish expression filled with the arrogance of youth and the certainty of faith. His chin was covered in isolated, wispy hairs. The lad looked like he was trying to grow a beard, and nobody had the heart to tell him it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Do you harbor the diabolist Sadia Al-Sharekh?”

  “I guess you could frame it that way,” Oak replied. “What are you lot going to do about it?”

  The young man ignored his question and plowed onwards, almost as if he had practiced what he was going to say and no minor inconvenience, such as the other unfortunate participant of this conversation, could divert him from his chosen path.

  “We have come to punish you and the diabolist for your villainy,” Besnik declared with the type of confidence Oak could only dream of. Besnik’s four companions fingered their chosen weapons nervously. They did not seem to share their leader's unquestioning zeal for righteousness.

  This can’t be happening to me. Oak pinched himself discreetly to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. It is hard to believe people this stupid actually exist.

  Besnik took a step forward and brandished his pitchfork.

  “Now, wait just a moment before you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your short life,” Oak said. “Are you boys sure you want this fight? Go back to your loved ones. Or I will get to work on you, and you won’t like what happens next.”

  By the fucking Chariot, turn around and live to see another day. He could see sweat gathering on the bowman’s forehead. The hook-nosed fellow’s hands were shaking, and when Oak locked eyes with him, the man whimpered quietly. This one at least knows a bad idea when he sees it. Won’t matter a whit though, if this comes to blows.

  “I spit on your threats, scum!” Besnik slurred, spit flying from his mouth. The moron had too much liquid courage coursing through his veins to even consider backing down. “There are five of us and only one of you! We are taking the diabolist back with us, and this time, the bitch will hang!”

  The bowman at the back of the group lost his cool and sent his arrow flying. It struck the baobab tree on Oak’s left. Without any conscious decision, Oak pulled back the string of his bow and loosed an arrow of his own. With a thump, it pierced the bowman’s stomach. The young man fell on his ass with a stupid look on his face, like he could not believe what had just transpired.

  Well, shit.

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