Jed Herne [Herne - Fires of the Dead

Breeze handed Wisp the telescope and Wisp smiled, doing his best to avoid a grimace. His damn knees were hurting again.

Stretching ahead of em was the Ashwood Desolation. Last time Wisp saw it, before the Gutting, the forest was lush and green and full of plump deer. Now it was a charred wasteland. Blackened, leafless trunks marched out to the horizon and ashen clouds blew in the wind. Only upside was that youd spot an ambush a mile off, cause most of the trees had been incinerated. Got to find the upside in these things.

Wisp lowered the telescope. Mountains surrounded the Ashwoods on all sides except one, which was blocked by a river. The damn water was deeper than a gamblers grudge, and twice as vicious. You could only cross in a handful of places. One of em lay ahead.

Wisp frowned. Breeze, whatre we dealing with?

The young woman snapped to attention eager to prove herself, as always. A dozen men guarding the crossing. Only eight are soldiers. The rest are cooks, carpenters, blacksmiths. Theyve got a Source Flame in the middle hut.

Wisp stroked his stubbled chin. So then at least one of em is a Pyromancer.

The river crossing was no easy path. More a place where the water ran shallow enough to wade through, so long as you kept your balance. Four huts and a low wall protected the bank on Wisps side. Nothing on the Ashwood side. Why would there be? Itd been lifeless since the Gutting.

Was it worth building a raft? Wisp shook his head. Given the currents and the rocks, it was too time consuming and too risky. Besides, Wisp had spent none of his fifty-four years learning how to swim. No changing that now.

Anyway, the border crossing would be a good test for his crew. He glanced around, sizing em up: Black Eye, hulking and vacant-looking; Marogan, scowling and chewing jerky from last nights dinner; Breeze, twitchy-handed and fingering her bow; and Fleetfoot, pale-faced and shivering from the cold. Wisp had worked with em before, but never all together. They could do with some practice.

Alright. Wisp gathered em around. You know the plan. The Skulls across that border. Lets do this.

~ ~ ~

Halt! said the guard.

Wisp, Marogan, Black Eye, and Fleetfoot paused a stones throw from the low wall. Six guards stood behind it, brandishing crossbows and swords. Wisp forced a smile. Didnt matter how much he did this nerves jangled through him and he had to piss. Listening to the fast-flowing river only made his bladder ache more.

State your business, said a guard.

Passage into the woods, good sir, said Wisp.

For what purpose?

Painting.

Beside Wisp, Marogan smirked. He elbowed her to shut her up.

Entrance into the Ashwoods is prohibited, said the guard. On orders of the High Priest and the Confederate Council.

Because?

Because they bloody well say so. Piss off.

We aint gonna steal anything, said Wisp. Just paint it. Were artists.

He waved his gloved hands in the air in a vague pattern. Seemed artistic enough.

The guard raised his eyebrows. Do that from this side of the river.

A tall man climbed onto the wall. There was something in the way he carried himself that seemed suspicious, so Wisp activated his Sight.

A shimmering orange thread appeared, visible only to Wisp, leading from the tall mans chest to a hut behind the wall. Wisp surveyed the others, but the man was the only one with the orange thread.

One Pyromancer, he whispered to his crew. Tall man.

Leave, said the guard. Or my men will fill you with arrows.

Hmph. Wisp crossed his arms. Thats the problem with todays young folk.

The orange thread leading from the Pyromancer vanished. The man gaped.

No appreciation of art, said Wisp.

An arrow erupted from the Pyromancers chest. He coughed blood and toppled over the wall and the other guards gawped.

Wisp opened his jacket and removed his hidden crossbow. He fired. Black Eye and Fleetfoot did the same, and bowstrings twanged and arrows hissed through the air as the defenders yelled and fired back. Wisp dove behind a boulder. Marogan slid next to him, spraying dirt over his face.

Crossbow bolts smashed into the boulder. A bow thrummed and another guard shrieked. Wisp smirked. How long until the idiots realised Breeze was behind their wall?

Marogan peeled off gloves to reveal her hands, which were a mess of scars and waxy flesh. Wisp had to respect her courage. Hard enough having the guts to burn one hand, let alone two. Somehow, though, he doubted shed ever considered another option.

Wisp removed his right glove. His hand wasnt as burnt as Marogans, but itd been enough to give him the Sight, and a small dose of Pyromancy.

Orange threads ran from him and Marogan into the distant hills, to the cave where theyd made a Source Flame that morning. He nodded. Their lines thickened, bursting with energy, and they stood from behind their boulder and pointed their burnt hands at the low wooden wall.

Flames erupted from their palms. Fire roared through the air, washing over the logs and making guards scream.

Black Eye used the distraction to sprint to the wall and scramble over the sharpened logs.

Jon! yelled a guard. Theres one over the-

Bone broke with a sickening snap, followed by shrieks and curses.

Marogan strode towards the wall, maintaining the stream of fire spewing from her hands. Wisp stumbled after her. His knees hurt like hell but he grit his teeth, shoved the pain aside, and scrambled over the logs.