“…At least we’ve had decent traveling weather,” Lunish announced, the afternoon sun and the river on her right as they moved north towards their destination.

  “Aye, it certainly could have been worse!” Grym agreed.

  Their last day and a half had passed without incident – Glynfir’s perpetually sodden footwear notwithstanding - and the mood was light. The only meaningful encounter had occurred just an hour before. Still wary of pursuit from Chagrothlond, they scrambled into the dense roadside overgrowth at the sound of hoof beats. Watching silently as a single military rider on horseback overtook their position from behind, the trio returned to the path and resumed their course. Fortunately, it occurred next to a tranquil section of the Shand, or they may not have heard the approaching rider above the river’s rushing waters until he was on top of them.

  Carved from the dense mixed forest of black pine and birch, the steadily rising road occupied the narrow strip of Shan territory between Eredmire and the Shand. The river’s meandering course dictated the shape of the overland route to the Luminarium. Just two parallel dirt tracks separated by a strip of low grass and foliage, the trail was comfortably wide enough for only two abreast. Rather than continue to duck and weave around every protruding branch, Glynfir chose to lag a couple of steps behind the others.

  “What’s our story when we get to the Luminarium? Do we tell them who we work for and why we’re there?” The wizard threw out the question to no one in particular.

  Grym was the first to offer an opinion.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s not like we’re hunting for secret information this time, and what other plausible reason would the three of us have for hiking up into these Gondforsaken mountains?”

  “Maybe we are interested in becoming monks – a career change…” Glynfir offered.

  The druid snorted, shaking her head, her two long braids bouncing in exaggeration. She had decided to stick with the new look and relegated her well-worn hat to the depths of her pack.

  “Ha! You can’t go one night sleeping rough without complaining. You wouldn’t last a week on the straw mats of a monastery!” she teased him.

  “I reckon I could become a monk. Trade my axe for a staff…” The dwarf made chopping motions in the air “…turn these hands into deadly weapons!”

  “You’d certainly stand a better chance than Glynnie!” Lunish agreed.

  “I’m not that bad,” The wizard objected. “My spells are far more complicated than yours. They require material components and take a lot of discipline and practice!”

  “Fair point. Okay, I take it back,” Lunish relented. “Though I still think it looks pretty suspicious for us to roll up to a monastery in the middle of nowhere – that’s just been attacked no less– and claim we’re there to join the initiate program…”

  “Well, when you put it like that…the truth it is!” Glynfir agreed. “The Guardians are concerned with the attack and whoever is behind it and want to help - sound right?”

  “I think so.” The dwarf confirmed, turning to Lunish. “Any update from Snuggles?”

  The group now referred to the anonymous, non-binary voice that delivered all communications from the Guardians as Snuggles, agreeing she was definitely female.

  “Not a peep since the initial instructions before we left the cave, but that’s not surprising.”

  “I’m sure she’s dumbfounded by our recent demonstration of prowess and bravery, and the resulting lust and admiration has left her speechless!” Glynfir quipped

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The trio shared a laugh as Lunish’s bright soprano giggle bounced around the surrounding area.

  Just up ahead, where the road bent hard to the left, accommodating the corresponding eddy in the river, two gaunt charcoal figures hunched over fresh corpses. The tip of each hooked horn pecking into the fallen horse and rider as they greedily tore strips of flesh and organs from the increasingly skeletal frames. Alerted by the distant sound of Gnomish laughter, two heads snapped up, and the figures froze, their glowing red eyes fixed on each other.

  Blood dripping from their chins and cheeks, they exchanged a short series of low growls and clicks, grabbed their spears, and scrambled toward the approaching voices. Neither fully upright nor on all fours, the demons’ loping gait quickly covered the distance between their recent kill and the sharp turn shielding them from view. With one final shared glance and a gruff grunt, they soundlessly sank into the overgrowth on either side of the trail to wait.

  Long sinewy muscles tensed in anticipation as two pairs of red glowing hatred tracked their prey ambling cluelessly closer. At thirty feet, they made their move. The first began to weave magic in a hushed guttural whisper, red strands of energy pulsing in a matrix among the tips of its blood-stained claws. Covered by the river’s perpetual babble, it spoke the final words, flicking the energy toward the chain mail-clad dwarf.

  Immediately, Grym screamed and dropped to the ground, grabbing his chest. The metal links of his chain shirt glowed an angry orange, sending shimmers of heat rising into the air. Within moments, the metal ignited his tunic, its fit trapping the burning fabric against his skin. His brain was overwhelmed by thousands of points of pain shooting from every nerve in his torso. He couldn’t speak; he couldn’t even think. The dwarf instinctively rolled on the ground, futilely flopping in the dirt like a fish out of water, desperate to extinguish the flames. He clawed at the armor, his screams elevating as the metal links seared into the palms of his hands. The acrid smell of burning flesh and smoldering fabric curled into the air.

  The demons exploded onto the road, their long legs propelling them from the cover of the undergrowth. With two quick strides, they set upon the surprised trio. The first launched a crude spear at the wizard as he gazed dumbfounded at his writhing companion. The jagged blade caught the half-elf just below the ribs, opening a gash in his side and sending the contents of his satchel sprawling into a debris field at his feet. Grunting from the impact, he dropped to one knee.

  The second demon let out a hissing roar, its canine fangs stretched tendrils of bloody saliva across its toothy maw, as it scuttled to engage. With both hands on the spear, it drove the blackened tip directly into Grym’s chest as the defenseless dwarf struggled to remove the chain mail. The sickening thud of metal on bone shocked Lunish back into the moment, and she immediately dropped to her knees at her friend’s side.

  A rush of air buffeted her cheeks as the demon’s second swing whistled over her head. Magical energy coursed through her as she thrust her hands, palms down, onto Grym’s chest without thinking. Recoiling instinctively as her exposed flesh met the searing chain mail, she shifted quickly to his face, pouring the healing energy of her spell into his body. It’s not enough! She could feel his life force declining faster than she could replenish it.

  “I can’t stop it!” She shouted.

  His eyes hurriedly scanned the contents of his satchel scattered across the ground. The wizard settled on a short amber rod, tipped with fur, just out of reach. Rolling to his left, he grabbed the rod. Removing his other hand from the wound in his side, he frantically wove his fingers, flicking droplets of his blood into the air, and spit out the words of the incantation.

  Adjusting his line to target both demons but avoid Lunish and Grym, the half-elf brought his two hands together on the rod and released the spell. A five-foot wide flash of lightning arced from the rod, ripping through both creatures, leaving behind a dully glowing wound on the black skin of their chests. Both demons wavered slightly from the impact before righting themselves and resuming their attack.

  What? That should have at least knocked them down!

  A series of cracks and pops echoed in the distance as the charge of electricity ran its course, cascading into the tree cover north of the road. Seeing the glowing matrix sputter and return to the digits of the creature’s clawed hand, the wizard shouted to his gnomish companion.

  “It’s using a spell to heat his armor, Lulu. We have to break its concentration!”

  “How do we do that?!?”

  “Attack him!”

  The gnome risked a glance toward the farther creature, magic crackling from its claws as it bore down on Glynfir, before returning to the more immediate threat.

  “I’ve got my own problems here!”

  The smell of burning flesh and hair hung heavily in the afternoon air and began to mix with the wood smoke emanating from the nearby foliage that bore the brunt of Glynfir’s blast. As the intensity of Grym’s wailing began to dwindle, Lunish fumbled around in her pack.

  I need a weapon. I’m not a fighter. How in Gond’s name am I supposed to…

  Her hand closed around a wooden shaft and wrenched a small carpenter’s hammer from the bag. Springing to her feet, hammer held high, she stood her ground between a seven-foot hissing ball of evil straight from the lower planes of Hades and her incapacitated friend. The contrast was stark as her level gaze fell just above the creature’s knees. The cold sweat of true life-or-death fear beaded on her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Her mind screamed to run, but her feet didn’t move.

  Maybe today is the day we all die.