43. Fenric #3
Malfas nodded. “Fenric, I’ll absolutely help you get those items back. To you they have true value. Do you have anything left of your mother?”
“A miniature portrait of her when she first had me, and a few pieces of jewelry I’ve recovered over the years. That’s all. The house was burned to the ground after her murder.”
“Then all the more reason to get back what was stolen from you.”
Fenric glanced over at Hapi to see the elf’s solemn expression. He offered Fenric a small nod, as if silently saying he was proud of Fen.
The words had tumbled out far easier than he’d expected.
It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest and he could breathe a little easier.
“I feel better now I’ve told you. I realize we all have personal goals, and you don’t need to share the reason for yours, but I’m glad you now know why you’re here. ”
“So are we.” Lirion leaned against his side, hugging him around his waist. “So use your words from now on.”
Use your words, eh? Did that include somehow wrangling his emotions long enough to ask Lirion to stay past this job? Why did being a grown-up require so many hard conversations, anyway?
People went back to setting up camp as night was falling.
The white fog some distance away added an eerie lightness to the encroaching dark that left Fenric wanting to turn his back to it, and yet he also didn’t want the fog out of his sight.
He pitched in with the tents, got one set up for him and Lirion to share, then sat to eat a dinner of stew once Malfas was done cooking.
They settled around the fire on the logs and perched on the nearby wagon while the skelebabies shuffled about the immediate area as guards.
They weren’t a great alert system, but just their appearance tended to frighten off any threats that saw them as an easy target.
Fry bread was available as well, and Fenric grabbed a healthy serving of both. Delicious as always. Malfas could make a mean stew.
Hapi lifted a single finger as he caught Fenric’s eye. “You are quite certain Mire has this heirloom of yours?”
“Absolutely positive. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be forcing this issue.”
“May I inquire as to what—”
The ambush happened out of nowhere. The sound of bipedal creatures moving fast pricked Fenric’s ears, and he had enough time to set his stew down and shout a warning before they burst free of the trees and brush lining the road.
Fenric registered several enemies approaching fast and responded accordingly, yanking a dagger free of his waist before wading into the fray.
One beelined for him, throwing itself at Fenric with something that looked like an elongated shark tooth. Sharp, for sure, and Fenric dodged its swing and closed in, close enough to see the whites of his opponent’s eyes before stabbing it right in the gut.
Several senses registered at this proximity—smells like water, with skin feeling like a fish’s—but he didn’t focus on any of that. His fear was for Maxie, who wasn’t good at hand-to-hand combat yet, and Lirion. Lirion could hold his own in a fight, but Fenric worried regardless.
Around him, magic sizzled through the air, and metal clashed with bone as Belstrom and Rain jumped into the fray.
The darkness was lit up with brief flashes of light, but Fenric couldn’t discern the source.
Adrenaline sang in his veins as he whirled, catching another attacker off guard and stabbing him in the side of the neck.
The creature made a wet gurgling sound before slumping sideways.
Almost dizzyingly, as quickly as the fight had started, it stopped.
Fenric cast about, a little frantic, to make sure his own were all right and the enemies were down.
They’d seemed to appear from nothing and had disappeared again just as quickly, leaving behind nothing but their dead.
None of the fishies were still standing; Malfas was finishing the last one with a judicious smack of his god-club.
Lirion stood nearby, breathing a touch heavily, but he didn’t seem to be hurt.
Fenric went to him first, checking him over.
His hand moved from his cheek to shoulder to chest, reassuring himself that the bard was all in one piece from the unexpected spurt of violence to their otherwise peaceful camp.
“Injuries?”
“Not a one, I’m fine,” Lirion assured him.
“Thank fuck.” He smacked a kiss on the man’s lips—why, even Fenric couldn’t explain, it just felt right in the moment.
Okay, where was Maxie?
Fenric’s gaze scanned the area, skimming over the dead—based on context clues, these had to be finfolk—to find Maxie leaning against one of the logs they had sat on only minutes earlier while eating their dinner.
Both of his hands were pressed tightly to his stomach, but it did nothing to stanch the dark blood slipping out between his fingers.
Maxie lifted a sickly grey face to Fenric, eyes wide with tears and panic. His full lips trembled as he tried to speak, but no sound left him.
Fenric’s heart leapt into his throat while his entire body ran cold with ice.
He practically flew over the campfire to get to his critically injured friend.
He pressed one large hand on top of both of Maxie’s and pushed, trying to stop the bleeding.
A cry of pain broke from Maxie’s throat, but it was nothing compared to Fenric’s shout.
“Hapi! Puppy’s hurt! Get over here now!”