Rise of the Rogue: A Zir Tavrik Forge Adventure by Nick Ryan

Author:Nick Ryan [Ryan, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-05-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7:

Wiofin woke in the eerie half-light of dawn and lay for a moment, listening. The rain had stopped. It had lashed the old fortress all night, so that when she slowly sat up, her clothes were damp and clammy, her hair gritty with dust. She yawned and stretched. The fire had burned down to ashes and the interior of the vault was almost pitch black and tainted with lingering smoke. She crept to where her belongings were stowed, fetched a change of clothes and her dagger, then stole soundlessly out through the doorway.

She stepped carefully down the rain-soaked slope towards the stream. The sky overhead was sprinkled with the last of the night’s fading stars and rimmed on the horizon by the first pale glow of the approaching new day. The air was still, the dense forest beyond the stream silent.

She walked a short distance, following the flow of the water downstream, until she was hidden discreetly from the watchtower by a clump of bushes. She peeled off her damp clothes and draped them over a branch, then waded naked out into the middle of the stream until it reached her knees, shivering against the icy chill of it. She sank down into the water and quickly splashed herself, then ducked her head beneath the fast-flowing surge.

She resurfaced gasping with pleasure, her hair plastered to her face and shoulders, her entire body tingling and invigorated. She clawed wet tresses from her eyes, then waded back to the shore. The day was dawning, the light growing stronger with every passing moment. Wiofin could see the first bright glow of the sun creeping over the horizon, spreading gold and crimson rays across the landscape, so they touched the tips of the trees on the far side of the stream.

She used her discarded shirt to dry herself, then dressed quickly. Finally, she crouched by the water’s edge and washed her other clothes, then stood – and paused.

She saw a grove of calendula plants on the far bank of the brook, growing against the fringe of the forest, the yellow and gold flowers lifting their faces towards the approaching new day. Calendula was a rare and prized herb, often used medicinally to treat rashes and wounds.

Wiofin picked up her dagger and skirted the muddy bank, searching for a choke point where the fast-running water narrowed so she could cross to the far side, each step taking her further away from the watchtower.

After several minutes she found a ford, strewn with a ragged chain of smooth round boulders and she danced across them lightly to reach the far bank of the stream. The trees grew close to the water’s edge, and she had to backtrack through tangled undergrowth and fallen branches before she reached the bush where the herb grew. She knelt on the ground like a priestess preparing to make an offering, and carefully began to harvest a handful of the vibrant-colored flowers.

A sound of footsteps nearby made her freeze in sudden fear.

The realization that she was not alone shocked Wiofin into a state of terrified panic.

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