"Don't eat it all. You are worse than a pig, Rushi," Ashurai complained. "Keep it up and you'll have the belly of a drunkard." The panganid finished the squirrel and grunted. She pawed the ground, her way of asking for more, and the warrior chuckled quietly. "Fine, you can have the last, but four is the limit. I will not hunt again for you until tomorrow."

  He watched his beloved companion gorge herself, and after sensing she'd indeed cleaned out her master's stock of squirrels, she curled up at his feet to sleep. "Brahli desh," he cursed, calling her a lazy ass in the tongue his mother had taught him so many years ago.

  His watch had only begun, yet Ashurai found the passage of time oppressive this night. The camp was fraught with tension. He unsheathed Gela, the curved shortsword he'd been given by his swordmaster upon defeating the old man. Gela was a term of endearment some Basari housewives used for their children. It meant "little lovely" in Ardean, though Ashurai had never taken to the language. Every translation was somehow lacking.

  Gela held a keen edge, and he'd already honed her thoroughly after the Graysoul attack. There was no reason he could not polish the blade, however, and so he did to soothe his mind and make the time flow easier. As he stroked the sword with an oiled cloth, he let his mind wander. Gorb and Niamh have not been so distressed since I began working with them. The old man's mind seems more frayed than usual... Is it the mage? Or am I placing too much on his shoulders? There’s the news of the beast kin war. That is troubling them as well, but it seems deeper than that. And they are not the only ones upset.

  The young woman that traveled with Marek came to mind. Rarely had Ashurai seen a woman with such intense eyes. Much like me when I was young, he thought, chuckling bitterly. He too had been angry at the curse of not unlocking a Class. Unlike most, however, Ashurai had chosen to ignore the limitations of his power. He'd trodden paths few would consider, and though he'd succeeded by most standards, the price was still heavy to this day.

  A stick snapped in the dark ahead of him. He crouched and placed a hand on Rushi's shoulder, alerting the panganid and preventing her from startling. Eyes focusing, he found the figure of a man walking toward camp. A patch of moving shadow floating above the man's shoulder, darker than the night itself, told him who was approaching. He relaxed a little but kept Gela in his hand just in case.

  When the figure came within ten strides, Ashurai called out the challenge word. "Flint."

  "Flowers,” Marek answered. “How goes it, Ashurai?"

  The warrior sighed and rose to his full height. Sheathing his shortsword, he gave an honest reply. "I am bored, Rushi is still hungry, and the others sleep."

  Marek stepped out of the shadow between two trees. The mage's familiar vanished, which comforted Ashurai. None in camp enjoyed the creature's company, and every time Marek summoned it, they all held their breath. A sliver of moonlight fell on the young man, and Ashurai had to suppress a gasp.

  Marek held up a hand, as if sensing Ashurai's dismay. "I'm fine. Found the Graysouls and dealt with them. I need new clothes and armor, but I'm no longer injured."

  Ashurai didn't know how to react. Normally, when a man's armor was ripped and tattered it meant his life was forfeit. Yet Marek walked steadily, not betraying any sign of injury. "How? How are you not dead?"

  Marek's shoulders rose and fell. "My curse comes with a few benefits," he said darkly. "I healed myself. That's all you need to know." With that, the mage patted Ashurai on the shoulder and walked past him, pausing just long enough to add, "Thank you for the sword lessons. They saved my life tonight. Ah, and I learned something. The Graysouls are more complex than we thought. Some are greater, capable of using the host’s Abilities. They’re dangerous and smarter as well.”

  “Mother’s blessing,” Ashurai whispered. “That isn’t good.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “No, nor is the compound Graysoul that I killed. The monsters are assembling bodies from various creatures in order to contain more than one soul. The one I fought was made of four souls, and believe me, it wasn’t easy to kill.”

  Ashurai bobbed his head, but Dumhvala had stolen his tongue. He couldn't speak a word after the exchange, only listen to his heartbeat and the whistle of air passing through Rushi's front teeth as she slept. He had the urge to scratch his forearms, to dig at the scars wrapped beneath his clothing. Only discipline held him back. Gorb and Niamh must hear of this. I can tell them in the morning. But how he grows in power! What I wouldn't have done to receive his curse… Could I have survived a second, though? The one I was born with nearly destroyed my soul. And what of Marek’s soul?

  Neither Srahesh, the Bound Father, or Surrghi, the Liberated Mother, would bless a power so dark. Their way insisted on remaining in the light. Ashurai had left their path years ago, and it was more than a little disturbing to witness a young man similarly tainting his soul in the pursuit of power. I had a choice in the matter, he thought, condemning himself yet again. That is what separates us... I had a choice.

  A muffled cry rose from camp, and hurried footsteps followed. Someone staggered in the dark, foot catching on a rope or an unseen pack. Then the woman Mags appeared, stalking angrily past him. Her shoulders trembled, and she growled before pitching forward onto her knees. The sound of weeping nearly tore Ashurai's heart in two.

  Rushi scuttled to the woman and butted against her backside. "Hey," Mags said, laughing a little. "Nice to see you too."

  The panganid nuzzled Mags, earning the pet she craved. And since it was now clear the distraught Ardean had yet to notice him, Ashurai decided to speak up. "She shows her affection aggressively."

  Mags started and clutched her chest. "Gods, Ashurai. I didn't see you. I..." Mags trailed off and sniffled. Stroking Rushi's bristled fur, she tried again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make an ass of myself. I thought I was alone."

  Ashurai stepped closer. "You did nothing of the sort. If I understand the situation, you are upset by the condition your friend was in?"

  Mags stood. Her eyes remained hooded, but the curve of her cheek and neck were illuminated in the silver moonlight. "Something like that. He... Logic bless the bastard, but he said he didn't know why I was mad! Marek must have been chewed to pieces to have ruined that leather armor. He just piled it up in the corner of the tent, saying, 'I'll need to get better armor next time.'"

  "He has the heart of a warrior," Ashurai said. "His body did appear strong when I saw him, if that gives you any comfort."

  Mags chuckled, but there was no mirth in the expression. "Not really. I'm trying to get used to this. If you could have seen him two months ago, you wouldn't believe how much he's changed. Marek—he's not a warrior. He's not the fighting type at all. He likes books and crafting and taking care of his uncle."

  The Basari waited before answering. Undoubtedly, the woman mostly needed to express her frustration and fear. This was understandable. "Marek sounds like a good man," he said at last. "Good men change after facing battle. Men and women alike. You know that much yourself, do you not?"

  Mags rubbed her cheeks and sniffled again. She looked away, eyes cast up toward the moon. She stayed that way a full minute, hands resting on her hips, before she faced him again. "Suppose you're right. You know, you're kinda wise for a scary killer man."

  Ashurai snorted. It was amazing how often this little woman managed to slip his guard. "Scary killer man?" he asked. "How flattering a light you see me in."

  "Not really an exaggeration, Ashurai. You should look at yourself in a mirror sometime. I pretty much hit it on the nose."

  He laughed, and she joined a moment later. When the moment passed, Mags sighed and peered over Ashurai's shoulder. “When are we leaving here anyway? I’m afraid what will happen to Marek if he doesn’t finish his quest soon.”

  “There is fighting in the passes ahead. Dozens of tribes have joined both sides, and the war wages hotly. Gorb will not participate, so it has chosen to wait here in the canyon a while longer. I do not know when we’ll leave.”

  Mags’ frown was a sad and weary thing. He could just make out her pinched expression in the moonlight. Her heart was hurting, and this in turn caused him pain. "Hey,” she said, speaking in a soft voice only he could hear, “do you mind if I stay a little? I'll keep quiet, I promise."

  Ashurai shrugged. "If it suits you, of course I don't mind. Rushi enjoys your company."

  Mags sat and faced the wilderness a few feet from Ashurai's position. True to her word, she didn't speak again, which both comforted and saddened him. The tactical side of his mind knew they'd already made far too much noise while guarding the camp. The more human side of him, however, wished she might talk with him all night.

  Rushi waddled up to Mags and flopped down in the woman's lap. She rested an arm over the scaled creature's back. Ashurai too found the silence, intimate and so very close, and joined the others in its warm embrace.