Caracara's Hunt

When the sun set on the second day after the escape, it found the group of travelers settling into an inn. Old Madam's health had taken a turn for the worse, which forced everyone to risk entering the small town at the crossroads.

Arawn and Sylvester sat in the common room and nibbled at their food.

The tables around them were full of travelers, who were speaking of the dangers on the road. Their tales were full of woe, but none of them thought to stay or return. The threat of the approaching Bretian army was too great.

"... be annihilated. I heard they're not only looting farmsteads but even taking all the able-bodied men for heavy labor."

"It's gruesome. A cousin of mine managed to run away, but he had gone mad in the camp. He kept raving about what he saw—people being forced to pull the supplies until they fell, then getting caned until they got up or died."

The speaker looked around and lowered his head to whisper. "He said that those who could not stand up were fed to the dogs. There's a whole hundred of them or so being driven along the army. Heaven only knows what for."

"We're doomed. This whole f.u.c.k.i.n.g country is doomed." The speaker's companion picked up his flagon of ale and downed it in one go. White foam covered his moustache, and he licked it away. "Us running only delays the inevitable, trust me. With our silk robes of a king, what else can happen? He'll use his fifty wardrobes to defend us? Bah! That bastard deserves what will come for him, but why do we have to suffer with him?"

Arawn took another bite from his bread without tasting it. The atrocities done by the Bretian army made his stomach churn.

"We must stop him," he whispered to Sylvester.

The doctor took a moment to come back from his thoughts. He then rolled his eyes at Arawn. "And how do you propose we do that? You've got an army I don't know about?"

"Some of the Mairyan nobles are thinking to put up a resistance. If we help them…"

Sylvester waved his suggestion away and took a sip of his drink. "Don't dream about the impossible. Bretian army is full of veterans from the northern border and we have a military culture, while what does Mairya have to offer? A few guards who've fought bandits before? No one here has faced a real threat for centuries. They wouldn't win even if they mustered up their whole population."

"You don't have to chop up the whole snake to kill it," Mutallu said. He pulled out a chair and sat down next to Arawn. "The town seems safe. The guards have received no instructions to catch us."

Arawn nodded and thought about what he said. "What did you mean earlier?"

"We can't kill the king," Sylvester said in a soft but harsh voice. "Do you think no one has tried before? You'd be just throwing your life away. The archmage is always by his side, and if he's not, there are at least five hounds. Not that you'd reach them anyway. There's a whole damn army surrounding the king."

Mutallu glanced at Arawn, then looked back at Sylvester. "He can blast his way through. Once he's engaged the guards, I can finish the job."

The plan sounded simple and easy, but the look on Sylvester's face made Arawn think about it again. If looks could kill, Mutallu would be lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

"It's been awhile since I've heard anything so stupid. Do you think the archmage is just a dying old man? He studied Arawn since young, and you think he didn't come up with any countermeasures? Stop daydreaming! He's a spider even more dangerous than the king."

Sylvester's outburst caught the attention of neighboring tables, and a few patrons looked over. Their curiosity was obvious, but the doctor was done with the conversation. He threw the last of his cutlet into his mouth, downed his drink, and stomped up the stairs to his room.

The silence he left was stifling, but Arawn focused on the doctor's arguments. He had never considered how much the archmage may know about him. The memory of when he was trapped in the rock and unable to use the ether came to him, and he shuddered. His powerlessness at that time was not something he recalled fondly.

He ate the rest of his food and left the inn. Mutallu followed him, and they wandered the streets for some time. There was a quietness to the town that Arawn had never seen before. Most people who had not already left stayed indoors and avoided newcomers, especially those who were not Mairyan.

When darkness came, Arawn found himself by a small stream. He sat down on the grass and picked up a few stones to throw into the water. They created ripples that were soon taken away by the current.

"Sylvester has a point," he said to Mutallu behind him. "It's not even a guess on my part. I've experienced being subdued to the point that I couldn't draw even one ether particle to me."

"Then we need a distraction. We have to wait till someone engages the army for us to reach the king."

Mutallu sounded dead set on taking the king's head, and Arawn envied his confidence to try it. There were thousands of unknown factors, and each one could lead to failure. How could they avoid all of them and reach success?

Avoid… Or just go through them and win anyway!

He remembered the beasts who could fight an army on their own. They weren't mages who could overturn cities, but they were just as dangerous. There was no one who could force them to halt in their tracks.

Arawn jumped to his feet and turned to face Mutallu with a smile that reached his ears. "I know what to do! I'll just turn into a beast! The archmage won't be able to do anything to me then!"

Yet his excitement did not reach Mutallu. The young assassin crossed his arms with a frown. "And how are you going to do that? I thought you can't change shape at will? And what if you lose your mind again?"

"I…" Arawn deflated, and his hands fell back to his sides. "I did not think that far.".

"You just need to grab the archmage's attention for a second. That's all it's gonna take for me to kill the king. There's no need to think more about it. This won't even be that hard if we get someone to fight his army and distract him."

It sounded too easy. Killing the dictator of a warrior nation could not be that simple. Even if they had tremendous power and skill, they were also well-known by that king, so he should have prepared a way to deal with them.

And the hounds…

Arawn picked up a small stone from the ground and threw it with full force into the water. There was a loud splash, but the ripples were gone in the blink of an eye.

"What if Corwal stands in our way?" he asked quietly. "What if he's one of the hounds protecting the king? What will you do then?"

Breath caught in Mutallu's throat, and his face visibly paled. "This…"

"Neither of us can defeat him even if we were able to fight him." Arawn picked up a few more stones, but instead of throwing them into the stream, he examined their dirt-covered surface. "If he survived, he would definitely come to oppose us. Yet he's your savior, and mine too. I don't want to attempt killing him a second time."

The idea that he might not have a choice weighted his shoulders down, and he suddenly felt that the stones in his hand were too heavy. He let them slip through his fingers to the ground.

They landed with a soft thud, and Arawn could no longer tell them apart from the other stones. A corner of his lips lifted slightly, and he turned away. He was no longer in the mood to think about what needed to be done.

"Let's go back. Val's family must be worrying about us."

Mutallu nodded, and they made their way back while lost in their thoughts. There was no question that the king had to be dealt with, but how became a lot more complicated when the enemy held your weakness in the palm of his hand.