Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 14 Pt. 2

 Notes: Merry Christmas, darlins! I hope you're all so well and cozy and happy. Have some comforting fantasy, on me ;)

 Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Ch. 14 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Fourteen, Part Two

 

Photo by Simon Lee

Matters That Matter

 

By the time Hiram was conscious again, he’d slept straight through the night and managed to come out the other side into a decent approximation of waking after a normal night’s sleep. Never mind that he’d been in Avery’s house for two days now and been unconscious for all but a few hours of that; he felt decidedly refreshed, the ache in his throat no more than a whisper now. In fact, he felt well-rested for the first time since setting out from Lollop in the first place…heavens and hells, was it four days ago now? Five?

“Did I miss Market Day?” he asked Avery that morning as they shared tea, a plate of toasted bread straight from tongs over the fire, and a bowl of savory porridge flavored with chicken stock and a hint of butter. The chives on top were the perfect accompaniment, just enough freshness to keep the dish from palling on the tongue. Avery was a better cook with under five ingredients than Hiram on his best day.

I wouldn’t mind sharing more meals with him. That would have to wait until he got his situation back under control. Still, the thought of having Avery over to his home, cooking together, and perhaps showing him around the garden before taking him upstairs to bed…it was tantalizing. More than Hiram could let himself focus on right now, given how the swell of desire heated his chest and made him feel downright reckless.

No recklessness, not anymore. It would be the height of discourtesy to bring someone into his life when he couldn’t even guarantee he’d be here through winter. Not to mention, dangerous…to them, at least. Avery was a lovely man, gentle and kind, with a hint of secrecy that no doubt stemmed from his time as a rogue. He’d clearly left that roguish life behind, and the last thing Hiram wanted to do was pull him back into it under false pretenses.

He almost didn’t hear Avery’s reply, he was so wrapped up in looking at him. “—esterday, I’m afraid.”

“Damn.” Hiram had meant to be back before it became an issue. “That’s sure to cause a bit of a ruckus.”

“From what Narion relayed, Mistress Tate handled questions regarding your wellbeing with grace. You’re likely to have a crowd of well-wishers when you show your face in town again.”

“Mm.” That was sweet, but not what Hiram wanted right now. He wanted the bland blur of anonymity, not the sharp tang of attention. “Well, I’ve plenty to do to get ready for the next one.” He’d probably be fielding visits at his house all week, as well; he could think of a dozen people who would be running low on their teas and possets and remedies. It hurt to say it, but… “I suppose I’ve inconvenienced you for long enough.”

Avery shook his head, blue eyes never looking away from Hiram’s face. “You were no inconvenience at all. I enjoyed your company.”

“I appreciate that, but nevertheless.” Hiram sighed as he leaned against the slightly rough back of the chair. “This is hardly how I’d intended to further my acquaintance with you, being rescued from my own stupidity in the woods. You’ll have to let me make it up to you.”

Avery smiled, and for all that Hiram had thought himself braced against the expression, it still made his heart beat a bit faster. “You were sick, not stupid. I’m glad I managed to find you. I’d have been worried out of my head otherwise. And for all that I’d like you to stay longer, I know your other friends have been worried as well, so I’d best share you with them or risk a string of visitors.”

And he wouldn’t like that, Hiram knew. He understood. “Well, then.” He got to his feet. “Let me clean up my mess, and then I’d be grateful if you’d give me a ride back to town. I’d better start off by properly groveling at Tilda’s feet for not being as careful as she asked me to be.”

“Mm. I have a feeling you won’t need to grovel too hard.” They worked together to fold the blankets, take down the cot, and then Hiram insisted on doing the dishes. By the time they were done he was a bit breathless, but not enough to force him to cough. He checked his rucksack and was pleasantly surprised to find everything he’d hoped in there, even the Lancre silk, and all of it cleaned up or still tucked neatly away in the bags he’d bought it in.

“Are you ready?” Avery asked from the doorway when Hiram was finished repacking his things. He looked perfectly composed, other than the twist where his hand had found the edge of his cloak. His fingers were gripping it so hard that the tops of his knuckles had blanched white, noticeable against the dark brown fabric. This wasn’t the same silky cloak that had poured from his hands when they first met; this was a sturdy but plain wool with just a hint of embroidery around the hood.

Hiram wondered, not for the first time, what Narion planned to do with so much Lancre silk, and how much of it was going to end up on Avery’s body.

Not the time, old man. “I’m ready,” he said as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. They headed outside to where Buttercup was waiting for them, already kitted out. “Poor thing, having to carry both of us and the sack.”

“Not both of us, just you,” Avery said, crouching a bit to offer Hiram a place to push off as he hoisted himself into the saddle. “I’ll walk.”

Hiram frowned. “I’m not going to kick you off your own horse.”

“Too late, you already have,” Avery said with a smirk as he reached for the bridle. “Let’s go, then.” They left the shade of the ring of tall trees that hemmed in the little house to give it a sense of privacy and headed for the trail that led down to the road. Hiram couldn’t help it; he instinctively turned to look at the tower in the distance, tall and imposing and now more dangerous than ever before. He didn’t need to reach out to it with his power to know it had to reek of him. His magical signature was strong enough that it could temporarily overpower even the might of Gemmel, and he had no doubt that imperial wizards would be there before it dissipated.

Imperial wizards…some of them were people he probably knew, perhaps respected. People who knew him in turn; how he thought, how he acted. People who had a potentially deadly amount of insight into him.

“Hiram?”

“Hm?” He turned back to Avery, who was looking at him with a concerned expression. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing, you just…you look as though you’re about to fall out of the saddle.” He frowned. “Do you need to lie down again? You do; it’s too soon. Let’s—”

“No, no.” Hiram shook his head. “I’m fine, I promise. Really. Just easily distracted, I’m afraid.” He forced a smile. “Let’s keep going. Please.”

Avery was quiet for a long moment before he reluctantly nodded his head. “If that’s what you want.”

I want to go back into your cozy little cottage and spend a week there. A month. Perhaps a year. I want to learn everything about you and hide away from the world.

But I can’t. Hiram had responsibility burned into his bones at this point. Speaking of…he idly reached a hand up toward his head and scratched the side of his neck right below his earlobe. Sure enough, Phlox heated up as he came close, just enough to let Hiram know he was in there, listening. Keeping watch.

He owed his old adversary a great deal of thanks for getting him out of the mess he’d been in.

***

Phlox remembered his birth into a world of pure elemental fire. He remembered flowing up through the cracks in the earth, his first taste of air and how frightening and freeing it had been.

He remembered finding others of his own kind, merging with them and falling apart, strengthening and weakening and finally striking out on his own to create a world that held him to the height he always dreamed of.

He remembered his mountain kingdom, so fiery and fierce, the natural lava flows the perfect place for bringing tender young flames into the world. Things had been so bright for a time, with his fierce consorts and his brilliant offspring and always, always more to eat. And then…

Intruders. Invaders. Metal made hot, screams and dark influences, no hope for a truce in the wake of so much death. Water made ice, poured over his children, crackling and shattering them. Not even he, Pyrax, could bring them back.

Vengeance was swift. Satisfaction, however, was fleeting. For that was when Xerome came.

Never had Pyrax been made to feel like such a tiny flame, not even in his earliest memories. His powers were wrenched apart, his entity torn asunder and cast into three separate phylacteries. He had hated, so much. He had thought he always would, but this self had been imbued with all the emotion, all the empathy, that he originally possessed. He saw the pain Xerome felt even as he won, saw his gentleness with his family, saw how mighty he could be—not a king, not an emperor, a god if he took all he was offered and bled enough souls for it—and saw how he wasn’t.

Watching him, being with him, changed Pyrax to Phlox.

Phlox cared for Xerome. Phlox cared for Hiram. And right now, Phlox was wondering how much of what had happened while Hiram was asleep he should reveal. Because while he hadn’t expected the creature that came to catch them up in its brutish arms—arms Phlox had been prepared to burn right off, Hiram’s warnings about power be damned—he knew it was no mistake that those arms cradled Hiram with a tenderness that was impossible to feign. No mindless beast could imitate such tenderness, such possessiveness. And while this was a beast, it had enough of a mind to know where to take them.

And then Phlox watched the beast become Avery Surrus, and laughed inside his gemstone prison.

Oh, this was too good. This was too good. A powerful wizard who pretended to be an herbalist, a rogue and a darkling who pretended to be a schoolteacher, and each of them lying to the other about their true nature despite the way they were drawn together.

There was no chance he was going to give their secrets away; they were far too entertaining. In fact, Phlox couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

 

Quaint Escapes For Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 14 Pt. 1

 Notes: We've gone hurt, now let's go comfort! Can't forget that this is COZY, DAMN IT!!!

 Title: Quaint Escapes For Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 14 Pt. 1

***

Chapter Fourteen

 

Quiet and Soft

 

Smell was always the first thing to come back to Hiram after he overextended himself. Not sight; not with his aching eyes. Nor hearing; nothing to shock his already shocked brain. Nothing that required him to think, and nothing that pricked his sensitive skin. Just something that soothed him down to the deepest reaches of his memory, in this case—lemonmint tea.

Lemonmint. It was a ubiquitous herb, hearty enough to grow in the harshest of environments. Even the high mountain villages and the roughest desert climes had periods where native lemonmint grew. It was so pervasive and hard to kill that many people in more benevolent climates ceased to use it at all, considering it a “common” flavor, too mundane to be worth the time to clean, dry, and use in scented sachets or teas, but those who lived at the edge of the extreme knew that lemonmint helped keep your teeth in your head, reduced the duration of seasonal sicknesses, and drove insects away from your food storage jars. Hiram had grown up drinking it every morning and evening, and he always associated it with comfort.

His chest rose and fell deeper than before, unconsciously heightening his experience of the pleasant scent. It drew him out of the darkness of his exhaustion and illness and back to reality. And reality, in this case, was a deliciously dim room with only a bit of light coming from the embers in the fireplace. The windows were dark but uncovered, so it had to be night, and…

Where was he? This wasn’t his home. It wasn’t Tilda’s either; he’d been there often enough to know it now. This seemed new, and yet it wasn’t. There was only one chair where there should be two, for starters.

Wait.

Hiram painstakingly turned his head to the left and saw a man moving in front of a simple black stove, stirring something that Hiram couldn’t make out from his angle. He could only see the man’s back, but after a moment the memory of this place came back, a trickle turned to a flood.

“Avery.”

Avery Surrus turned with a sharp exhale, his eyes wide as he stared at Hiram. He looked rather the worse for wear, with fresh lines of fatigue on his face and stooped shoulders that spoke of fatigue. But his sudden smile was almost blindingly beautiful. “Hiram!” His voice was soft but enthusiastic, and he left the spoon he was holding on the stovetop as he came over to the—cot, it was a cot, Hiram realized. The other chair had been moved to make way for a cot. For him.

Oh, what a mess.

“You’re awake.” Avery pulled the chair over to his bedside and sat down, one hand reaching for Hiram’s forehead as the other took his wrist, fingertips light on his pulse point. “Finally. I was beginning to think I needed to contact a healer after all.”

Ugh. Hiram was grateful that no one from the Temple of Melemor had seen him like this, but there was so much more he needed to know. “How…ah…” How in the etherium had he even gotten here?

“Narion found your mount,” Avery said, correctly interpreting Hiram’s mumbling. “Or rather, it found him, I think. He surmised that something had happened to you along the road, and he asked me to look into it.”

“Just you?” Hiram clarified.

“Mmhm.”

Well, that was good. The fewer people who knew he’d…whatever he’d done, the better. “What then?”

“I found you just where your mount led me,” Avery said. “I tried, but I couldn’t wake you; you were completely unconscious, but you didn’t seem injured in any way, just exhausted. I made a makeshift litter and brought you back here to recover. Narion took your mount to Mistress Tate for safekeeping, I believe.”

All right, so at least one more person knew something was amiss. Damn it. “I’m surprised she’s not banging your door down.”

“Narion was able to forestall her for the time being.” Avery smiled faintly. “They both know how I value my privacy.”

Oh, of course he did. Hiram flexed his toes and fingers searchingly—no unusual levels of pain down either limb. He ought to be able to move. “I can be out of your way in a—”

“No!” Both of them winced at his sudden volume, and Avery made an effort to lower his voice as he continued. “It’s late, and you’ve only just woken up. You might as well stay the night now. We can think about you leaving tomorrow.”

Tomorrow… “How long have I been here?”

“Not even a full day,” Avery assured him. “It took about twelve hours to get home from where I found you. We arrived here early this morning, and you slept through it all. I got you set up in here, made sure you weren’t in dire straits, and…” He shrugged. “I’ve been waiting ever since, making sure you weren’t spiking a fever and getting you to drink a bit of water here and there.”

That was fortunate. It struck Hiram that he could, in fact, have died out there in the woods if Mule hadn’t shown such tenacity. He’d been…he’d been…

New memories rushed in, and Hiram groaned and clutched at his head as the influx threatened to overwhelm him. Garrison, the seeking, the obscuration, the wizards…damn it, damn it! His entire existence was threatened because he’d handled those damn gnolls, of all the ridiculous, confounded, useless—

“Breathe,” Avery pleaded, and Hiram realized he was gasping, becoming light-headed. “Breathe, Hiram, it’s all right.” He laid a warm hand on Hiram’s chest. “Steady, steady…in like me.” He modeled a gradually slowing pace, and Hiram was able to gather enough of the tatters of his ability to think back into his mind and mimic his host. Eventually the pain from the memories faded, and he was left feeling no worse for the knowledge. More morose, absolutely, but the headache subsided fast.

“Well, hells,” he managed.

Avery chuckled with relief as he sat back, casually holding one of Hiram’s hands between his own. It felt like wearing a warm, soft mitten. “Are you well?”

“I’ll survive.” As long as I’m careful. Gods, I’m going to have to be so careful now. Maybe he ought to take this as a sign that it was time to go, actually. He’d lasted almost two months in Lollop, not a tenth of what he’d hoped for, but…

“Good.” Avery looked down, and the light was dim but Hiram could still make out the stain of a blush on his cheeks. “I can’t tell you how worried I was for you. It doesn’t, um, paint me in a particularly calm and collected light.”

“I think saving my life paints you in a very good light,” Hiram said honestly.

“You’re generous.” Avery shook his head. “The truth is, I don’t do well in emergencies. I tend to lose my head when things get out of hand. I haven’t slept since I brought you here; I’m surprised I didn’t wake you up earlier with all my pacing.”

That was an enlightening confession in multiple ways. “You could have given me over to Tilda,” Hiram offered. “I’m sure she’d have accepted the burden of caring for me.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Avery closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “If I’d let you out of my sight, it would have been even worse,” he said, quiet and careful and so fearfully truthful it made Hiram’s heart ache in response. In a good way, though. “I—do you—”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.” Hiram managed a little smile. “Or anyone I’d rather be with.” It was true, he realized; he was comfortable here, happy to be in the company of a person he admired and was beginning to feel…things for. Whether those stirrings would ever amount to love was another story, but he would give Avery what he had. It wasn’t much.

Avery didn’t seem to mind, if the grin that split his handsome face was any indicator. “Good.” They looked at each other in perfect understanding for a moment before he continued, “Would you care for something to eat? Or perhaps some tea?”

Hiram’s mouth watered at just the thought of it. “Tea, please. With—”

“With a little bit of honey,” Avery said. “I remember.” He got up, but only so he could lean forward and help Hiram into a sitting position, scooting him along the cot until his back rested against the wall. The stone should have chilled him, but he was still cozily warm. He glanced down at himself and realized he was wearing a thick woolen sweater that he was positive didn’t belong to him. A deeper sniff told him it belonged to Avery, faintly redolent of cedar and a hint of musk.

He glanced up at Avery and had the delight of watching him blush again. “You were shivering, and all your things were damp,” he muttered. “Let me just—”

Hiram set a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, freezing him in place. “Thank you,” he said. “Truly. You’ve done such a good job taking care of me, I feel very fortunate.”

“Anyone would have,” Avery mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away.

Hiram shook his head. “I think you and I both know that’s not true.” He held Avery’s gaze a moment longer, then let go. “I would love some tea.”

“I—yes, I have tea, let me get it.” He went over to the stovetop and came back with two familiar mugs, one for each of them. The heat of the steeping brew had bled through the ceramic, and it was a delight to hold. The taste was perfection, citrus and mint softened with the delicious floral sweetness of the honey, and he exhaled happily after his first sip.

They took their first few sips in silence, then Avery said, “You won’t believe the news I heard on the road when I was coming to get you.”

I’m afraid I would. But there was no polite way to get out of listening other than falling asleep, and Hiram wanted to at least get through one cup of tea before he did so. “Tell me.”

“Word from Garrison is that a pair of dangerous bandits were remanded to the city in chains, and no one knows who did it.”

“How fortunate for Garrison.”

Their eyes met again, and Hiram steeled himself against the questions he could see in Avery’s face. He couldn’t tell him the truth, he couldn’t, not if he wanted to survive, but…he owed Avery some truth, at least. If he pressed…Hiram would try to answer honestly.

But he surprised Hiram once more. “Fortunate indeed,” was all he said, then sipped his tea like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Oh. Oh, dear. There’s a fearfully good chance I could fall in love with this man. And Hiram wasn’t sure he was strong enough to guard his heart against it.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 2

 Notes: Sorry it's a little late! Enjoy some...well, this is probably as angsty as this story will get, so, uh, enjoy the pain, I guess?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 13 Pt. 2

***

Chapter Thirteen, Part Two

 

Just Close Your Eyes

 

He was halfway to the square when it happened. One moment his ears were filled with the swell of the crowd in the distance, supplemented by a voice that was being magically projected to come off as louder than it actually was. Hiram assumed it was a performer, someone working to draw the crowd in close for a show, but then—

“REVEAL YOURSELF, SAVIOR OF GARRISON! REVEAL YOURSELF TO CLAIM YOUR PRIZE AND THE GRATITUDE OF OUR CITIZENS!”

Hiram doubled over, clutching at his head as he slammed his eyes closed. This was more than a simple seeking, so much worse. This was a compulsion, and it was a strong one. Whoever the wizard behind it was, they were powerful. They’d not only used whatever shreds of evidence Mule had left on the gnolls to orient their spell, they’d expanded it to encompass Mule’s caretaker—him.

Hiram wasn’t worried about Mule, as unicorns were immune to most types of magic and could never, under any circumstances, be compelled. He was far more worried about the fact that he knew, if he opened his eyes right now, whoever was behind the compulsion would see right through him. He felt their consciousness in the front of his mind, wriggling with curiosity behind his eyes, and he was filled with a loathing so intense he knew that whoever it was had to feel his animosity.

Compulsions were hideously invasive spells, the worst sort of violation of privacy. Hiram had refused to do them after the first time he felt one laid upon him, so adamant about it that not even Andy was able to convince him otherwise. He’d made sure to lay the strongest possible protections he could on his companions, so that none of them would ever have to suffer from the at best horribly mannered, at worst predatory magic users who might attempt a compulsion on them.

He felt Phlox responding, trying to rebuff it, but the elemental had been prepared for the light touch of a seeking, not the hammer blow of a spell like this.

“HE’S HERE! OUR WIZARD TELLS US THAT OUR SAVIOR IS CLOSE BY! COME FORTH, GOOD SIR, AND TELL US ABOUT THE FIGHT!”

It was getting harder and harder to fight the urge to open his eyes. Worst than that was the impulse to straighten up and start walking again, walking toward the plaza where everyone was waiting for him, they wanted to meet him, to fete him, and he wanted…he wanted to, he…

No! Caught between two awful options, Hiram took the one that would give him more time—any time. He reached inside himself, unlocked the barriers he’d put around the vast majority of his magic for months now, and set himself free. As his power surged, the foreign consciousness in his mind was pushed out with a squawk of surprise and dismay. The compulsion itself still lay upon him, though, like a scratchy blanket over his brain, and Hiram did the best thing he could think of with it.

He stitched the compulsion into a thread of his power and hurtled it toward the greatest agglomeration of magic in the area, possibly in the entire country. He sent it straight to Gemmel’s Tower, where the dark, hungry energies absorbed both magical signatures like pebbles swallowed by a lake. Leylines shivered with the passage, but not specifically enough to pinpoint Hiram.

At least, he hoped not.

“You have to get out of here.”

“I know,” he groaned as the crowd began to roar. Whatever they were seeing in the plaza, it had everyone in a tizzy. Probably the wizard responsible had collapsed, or maybe he was babbling about seeing things he shouldn’t have in Gemmel’s Tower. Whatever was happening, the situation was only going to intensify at this point. He needed to leave, now. “Let’s go get Mule.”

“You have to open your eyes first.”

Oh, right. Hiram pried his eyes open gingerly, wincing as the light ramped up the headache that the obscuration had planted. Damn it, he was going to experience severe backlash as a result of shooting off a huge pulse of magic without even going through a warm up. He had to get as far away from Garrison as possible, before he couldn’t move anymore. “Come on.” He stood and brushed himself off with shaking hands, then picked up his rucksack. The weight almost dragged him off his feet again.

“Will you be all right?”

“I have to be,” Hiram said, injecting a little more confidence into his voice. “Don’t worry, this is nothing compared to what I’ve gone through in the past.”

“You were prepared for such things in the past. You haven’t used your magic for so long…Hiram…”

“First things first, my dear. We need to get out of here.”

It was thankfully easy to reach Mule, settled on the outskirts of the square as she was. The two lads charged with caring for her were in a tizzy, one of them on the other’s shoulders as he tried to make out what was happening on the stage in the center of the plaza. “Thanks, sir,” he said absently as Hiram paid what was due. “Say, did you see what happened? One second the Wizard Greenlief was doin’ his thing, the next he was fallin’ over!”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see anything,” Hiram said with complete honesty. “Thanks for the help.” He took Mule and led her well away from the plaza before removing the blinders, just in case. The side streets were nearly empty, and it was a simple thing to saddle up and head for the road once more.

Well, it should have been simple. It actually ended up being quite a challenge to get from the ground to the saddle, and for the first time in a long time, Hiram felt his age. Gods above and below, he was so tired, and his head ached fiercely and was only getting worse, and his sinuses felt like they’d been forcibly scraped out with copper wire, and his throat still tickled and his nose was stuffed up and his lungs were sore from coughing, and everything about him was a complete mess right now.

Be a mess on the road. Or perhaps off the road.

“Mule,” he murmured once he was finally on her back, “take the long way home, darling.” Mule wasn’t smart in a humanoid sense, but she was completely attuned to Hiram’s needs, and he was confident she understood him. They set off from Garrison, not on the direct road that led straight back to Lollop, but via the north road. It was a more roundabout path, but exactly how roundabout, Hiram wasn’t entirely sure.

Whatever, it would be fine. Mule would get him home.

Hiram’s faith held out until it got dark. They were still on the road, and there was no sign of an inn anywhere. Worse than that, his headache had progressed to the point where every movement felt like an intensification of the agony, and even Mule’s gentle gait made him want to throw up. The full moon had only just passed, leaving the night sky unreasonably bright, and eventually it was too much for Hiram to bear. “I have to get down,” he muttered. “I have to stop.”

“Use a spell of healing, it’s not—”

“No!” Hiram immediately regretted raising his voice. “No, no more spells, no more dips into my magic, nothing. I just lit up the entire ethosphere with my magical signature. Andy’s going to be sending more wizards in this direction than I have fingers and toes, and the only thing that’s going to keep me safe is disappearing completely.” He brought Mule to a stop, then slid onto the ground. Hiram’s legs hit too stiffly, and he almost collapsed.

“You need to get home!”

“I need to recover some first,” he said with a sigh. “Mule, darling, help me into the woods.”

“I’m sorry, you want her to lead you into the gnoll-infested forest? The dark woods? The place everyone warned you about, so that you can recover?”

“I just need some sleep.”

“Yes, in a bed.”

Hiram stopped talking and focused on not tripping as they moved deeper into the forest. It was cold and far too wet to be comfortable, but at least it wasn’t actively raining on him this time. Even better, it was blessedly dark. He stopped a dozen or so yards in, where he found a fallen tree that would make a decent base for a lean-to. A little rummaging in his pack produced his oilcloth cloak, which he draped over the tree to shield the ground beneath it. Then he bundled himself up in every other piece of clothing he had, sipped at the water in his canteen long enough to leave his stomach feeling sloshy, and turned his rucksack into a makeshift pillow.

There, nothing to it. Hiram knew how to sleep rough—he was an old hand at this sort of thing! Granted, he’d usually been part of a group, and there’d been lookouts and the like, and he’d set up all sorts of defensive spells to let him know if something bad was coming, but this was fine. Oribel was one of he safest countries in the empire, gnoll bandits notwithstanding.

It would be fine. It had to be; he couldn’t stay awake any longer. Hiram lasted just long enough to loosen Mule’s bridle and saddle, then curled up on his side in the shelter and fell into a fitful sleep.

Gods, his head hurt even in his dreams…he drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, unable to concentrate on the faint voice he heard, one that sounded like Phlox. “Go get help,” it insisted, and then Mule was whickering and there was the sound of hooves picking their way back to the road, and then there was nothing at all as a deeper, more exhausted sleep finally found Hiram.

***

Miles away, a predator roamed. The night after the full moon was always easier spent in beast form than as a man, especially since the urgency had passed. With full control of his faculties, it was almost fun to be a monster, to hunt for prey in the forest and feel the freedom that came with such a strong body. He stretched his senses as far as they would go, and recoiled as he smelled something terribly dangerous.

Unicorn.

He hunkered in the undergrowth and waited for the unicorn to pass. It moved at a thundering pace, and despite himself he found his gaze drawn to the road. It must be a very fancy rider, to harness a unicorn in such a way.

He blanched as he realized that he recognized this unicorn. It had almost run him through not long ago—it wanted him dead! It would surely try to kill him if it sensed him…and yet, it didn’t even pause in its run, passing him with single-minded focus.

That was Hiram’s unicorn, all dressed up to be ridden yet with no rider.

Fuck. Where was Hiram?

His instincts screamed at him. Find him! Hunt him down, grab him up, make him yours! And in this form, there was no reason not to.

The predator moved close enough to the road to follow the telltale scent of unicorn and began his own run.