Fawnlum added a couple large sticks to the fire, very thankful the streams were still safe.  But they were not the haunt of their quarry, so after having trekked east along the Gonall for a couple days, she had led them south on a game trail.

In the darkness – the pitch-black nighttime – they could hear the noises of the tri-cleorps.  The greater feeling of alertness, but also dread, was on them all, with no comfort to be had, despite the warm grip of a weapon’s handle.  The evil powers that had grown the shrooms were spying on them, her suspicions told her.

Casually, she turned her back at the pop and snap of twigs from the southeast side of their camp.  Caitlyn and Sienna, in their bedrolls, lay awake, thanks to the pebbles she had flicked on their heads.

“Up!” Dreighton shouted from his perch.

They came crashing out of the darkness, charging the camp much more quickly than the last two groups had.

Fawnlum’s stab took the leader through the eye.  The thrown fire-eel torch cast sudden light and made the others’ wide, triple eyes look almost comical, before they made a roaring yelp and turned away.

Fawnlum yanked her saber free, swinging at her next target.

Similarly did Sienna indulge her skill, as her first mark drew back, then advanced as the initial flash faded.  She parried the blow of his spiked club and spun, right around him and chopped in behind the base of his skull.

So unfamiliar with the Coastal fighting style were the tri-cleorps, the next one practically walked into her kick to his face, leaving her free to deal with the third.  Almost as in a training exercise, she stepped right up close to him, her free hand chopping his wrist and knocking his arm wide, before she cut open his midsection.  Flipping her weapon over, she stabbed her kicked opponent through the soft spot of his diaphragm.

“How much more oil do we have?” Fawnlum asked.

“Enough for three more fights,” Sienna said.  “Six if we use a little less on the rags.”

“I’m just glad you decided to bring so much,” Fawnlum said.  “You thought you might need to burn some enemies out of their caves; and by Mithras, you were going to do it.”

“Oi!” Dreighton called, pointing into the night.

Fawnlum turned and looked, catching sight of a torch bobbing along in the darkness, with the echo of gritty voices.

“Hello?!” Fawnlum called.

“Hello, yerself!” came the reply.

“Banacheck!” she called happily.

“‘Oo else would it be, Missy?” he snapped, as he and his cadre tromped up, surveying the carnage.

“We were trackin’ those!”

“We have meat.”

“Serve it up!”

After a meal of venison treated with Coastal spices, humans and dwarves sat around the fire, the bearded folk lighting engraved pipes.

“Why isn’t the lad down ‘ere?” Bluntwerk asked, indicating Dreighton, who had climbed back up in the tree.

“He’s the lookout,” Fawnlum replied.

“Aw, bring’im down.  The bastards’ve got no stomach for two fights in one night.”

“Where’s young Vwerlon and Master Halrick?” Gritcomb asked.

“In town.  Preparing a few things.”

“So, then, Missy,” Banacheck asked her, “how do ye like the job so far?  A big forest to walk across, eh?”

“This darkness agonizes the spirit,” Sienna quickly said.  “Do you not feel it?”

“We do at that.  But our constitution is different from yer own,” he said, with a light thumping of his fist against his chest.

“Are there any more parties of dwarves hunting around here?”

“Nay, just us and a few handfuls of humans,” Gritcomb answered, before digging into his pack.  “An’ whoever uses these.”

Fawnlum took the long, straight arrow from him, studying the black shaft, perfectly carved and balanced with a black bladed tip and strange black reeds serving as fletches on the end.

“We’ve found them sticking out of tri-cleorps bodies,” he told her.

“It’s certainly well-made,” Fawnlum said, as she handed it back.

“Their owners never stick around to take a bow,” Banacheck said.  “They just leave their kills lying there.”

“How many kills?” Sienna asked.

“Quite a few, closer to the farmlands.  But they never take the ears.”

“Maybe the elves of Castletree?” Dreighton asked.

“Bah!  They’ve gone to their roost and shut the door,” Bluntwerk spat.

“You and yours have walked this dark forest, since the foul cloud came over it, yes?” Fawnlum asked.

“We have, Lady Lichner.  But our home is in our mines.  It’s the tri-clerops we’re most familiar with.  Been beatin’ their lot down for hunnerds o’years.”

“An’ hunnerds more!” Firgristle added.

“Aye,” the other dwarves said in unison.

“But there ain’t no life worth livin’, as what yer fightin’ for,” Banacheck added.

“Aye!” Fawnlum burst out, but Banacheck held up a hand.

“Evermore they come at us, ever to scratch at our toes.”

“An’ evermore we hit’em down!” Guilwar finished, “to break ‘em ‘gainst our sacred stones.”

Guilwar then started singing a few bars in a low pitch, and then to Fawnlum’s ears, the rest joined in.

She took a look around at the night, concerned about the noise.  The veteran fighters should know the need for vigilance.

Gritcomb waved his hand with a light shake of his head, dismissing her fears.

Caitlyn was suddenly beside her, sitting cross-legged, settled down and raptly listening.  She looked quite at ease.

Fawnlum let a bit of tension ease out of her shoulders, and did likewise.

The light around the fire actually became comfortable, with the bearded allies’ smooth baritone creating a changed atmosphere around her.