All they would find was misery. Even after some vicious lashings and threats, there wasn’t a raider in the keep ready to risk that kind of certain death. Beatings were favorable in comparison to exiting the confines of the mostly safe walls. Roughly a third of Hakan’s people lay dead outside her keep. Numerous bodies had been retrieved and shoved on to a burn pile when there had been a lull in the assault. At minimum, they were going to wait for the sun to be up to light the fire, as no raider wanted to chance being an easily spotted, well-lit target.
While the night may have been quiet, it was truly taxing. Just leaving the keep was done in sizable groups, and patrols either went fully armed or not at all. All remaining shields found their way into wanting hands, which was admittedly few after the war party had been kitted with near all of those precious protections. When day finally broke, the raiders were tired, sullen, and bleary-eyed. They were kept awake by an unhealthy mixture of alcohol and the fear of what might be waiting for them the next time they set foot outside.
A door wasn’t opened without having shield cover. If you didn’t have one, you fetched someone who did. Defending this castle was not something the raiders had done before, and that reality drove Hakan up the wall. Her apprentices did what they could, but she wasn’t about to order any of her girls to go out and patrol.
The silence of the day was equally welcoming and dreadful, and many hushed whispers started more than one rumor that nightfall was to be dreaded. A fight even broke out on whether to have more torches lining the walls or none at all. The apprentices could not stifle the demoralizing air and conflict that rolled through the keep.
To Hakan’s relieved delight, at least one of her underlings was useful. Lunella had brought her a plan that would solve both problems in one solid swoop. By having all the raiders be armed and positioned outside the keep at all times, they could quickly react as a group to the mystery threat. Since the crimson light marked such a clear target, the raiders would know what to aim for.
A few arrows might miss, but at least one or two in a full barrage wouldn’t. This would be plenty to end the threat and raise morale. There was an excess of room in the courtyard, the tower, and on the walls for the raiders to set up. After the rough idea of the plan was spread around, Hakan’s command spurred it to action.
When Artorian woke up in the late morning, he had quite the surprise waiting for him—or rather, on him. There was movement on his blanket as the claws pierced through the thick sheet. From the feel of it, numerous minute critters were skittering about on top of him.
*Plink*. *Plink*.
The noisy clinking of glass made the old man stir. The shifting sent waves of scattered fluffballs scurrying from his bundled, resting frame. Rubbing his face with the inside of the blanket, he woke with a *nnffff* and a crick in his back. Artorian peeked over the blanket at a parade of mouse-sized sugar gliders swarming through his rations sack. “You little rascals!”
They scattered. His waking words were accusatory and pointed but soft and spoken with surprised affection. Nudging the heavy blanket further down, the critters all darted away further and clambered up nearby trees. So, they’re climbers, too? Precious… but… “You stay out of my food!”
With a labored stretch, he tugged in the ration-sack and inspected the damage. That’s odd…? Most of the food was still packaged and untouched, though they’d tried tearing their way into his cloth-wrapped fruits from the look of it. He had not seen much fruit on his trek so far. Squinting, he had a good look at some of the sugar gliders while he unpacked a small bundle of raspberries.
There was something wriggling in their tiny paws that they ate. Worms? Yes, it certainly seemed as such. Both of the vials he had left out the night before were completely empty and scattered several feet away from where he’d originally placed them. Looks like honey was popular.
*Fhwump*. Popping the cork on a third vial, he set it out a good distance away from him, sprinkling some raspberries on the root next to it. He had plenty, and he didn’t mind sharing. Getting looted was a different matter.
Cautiously, the gliders went to inspect as Artorian pulled out his own breakfast. Watching them, he tore away at somewhat crumbly, dry bread stacked with layers and layers of salted mixed meats. The resting Elder pulled the stopper from a canteen and downed half of all the water from it in a single draw. The relief of refreshment rushed over his body. “Ahh. That’s the stuff.”
He finished his sandwich, watching as a whole horde of gliders tousled and pushed to get their faces at the honey tube. Once they’d nibbled at a raspberry, the snooty rascals straight up absconded with them. The fruit made a mushy mess of their adorable faces as they dove into the berries like candy.
Oh, how he missed candy. The nostalgia was shaken off before it had a chance to root. Some bark fragments fell on him, followed by the soft *thud* of a glider. The impact caused a noisy *crunch*. The little thing twitched, whining as it relied on its right side to pull itself to safety. It was hurt?
*Oof*! Artorian tensed and blinked with surprise from the creature’s sudden drop. He remembered what pity felt like and didn’t like it one bit. “Oh no, now that won’t do at all.”
He reached over, grabbing one of the weak healing potions from a clipped-open satchel. The little glider lay unmoving, the little animal drawing labored, heavy breaths. Its tiny body shuddered from fright; Artorian was a big, scary thing, and it hurt all over.
The old man was focused, going into full healer mode. Applying more than a few drops of potion to the berry he’d been holding, he set the fruit down. Then he nudged it under the glider’s chin. He didn’t do anything more until that tiny tongue lapped at the sweet berry. The pulsating, little stomach slowed its panicked heaving. Breaths came just a little bit easier. With the tiny, precious fluff a little more complacent, the side of his thumb tenderly brushed across its twitching head and ear. He didn’t know how to soothe this animal, but tenderness hadn’t failed him yet. He considered more in-depth methods of restoring the fluff ball.
For a moment, part of him deemed it a waste to patch the soft animal, but that singular voice swiftly had the snot beaten out of by all the other parts who ganged up as an overzealous, motherly mob. Shifting Essence sights, he had a look at the creature to get a rough idea of breathing pattern, circulation, muscle movement, bone positions, and what was out of place. Major bones in both the front and hind legs of the left side had shattered. From pre-present splinters, it appeared these bones had been fractured before. This little one must have been in pain and for much longer than merely today.
Brushing the flat of his hand across the soft fluff’s back with tender care, he filtered celestial Essence into the glider. His hand ever-so-barely brightened, and the fluffling hazily went limp as it drifted asleep… unaware of what would have otherwise been painful internal changes.
Artorian heard small *pops* as Essence was guided to break, set, then mend the bones while keeping the muscles pushed away. After the bones were whole, he relatched the musculature on before moving to lesser injuries. The careful ministrations and delicate Essence control made him sweat, and the pull slipped from his control as refined Essence was added to the mixture.
Whoops. He was going to lose some Essence… The thought was discarded; he came to terms with it. He wasn’t going to let the little thing suffer, and he wasn’t going to put it out of its misery. This sugar glider was minuscule in size compared to its counterparts. Little baby would likely have had a long, healthy life, despite being a runt. Still, the bones of this little one were brittle. Too brittle… A thought occurred, a dangerous one. One he truly, truly should not try.
“Maybe… maybe just a little?” Artorian mumbled to himself.
Hesitantly pulling some celestial corruption from his trapping circle, he bundled it in a minor weave to continue the containment. Sweat beaded on his face from concentration. It took patience and precision to maneuver the trapped corruption through the channel of his hand and into the no-
longer-wriggling glider.
It was just pleasantly dreaming, mouth and arms moving as if munching and stuffing its face as little shivers of warmth rolled over and through its limited senses. Once the bubble of corruption had moved to what Artorian considered the Center of the creature, he took a solid breath and wiped his face. Keeping the main orb centered, he pulled smaller globes of corruption all along the baby’s bones. The bones sucked the corruption down, and Artorian didn’t have the focus to retrieve the weave, so he let go and let the glider have it.
Artorian was playing with an untested theory here and tried hard not to let his desire to heal the fluff dip over into academic curiosity. He failed. The natural immutable aspect to resist change was what he wanted here. Having that kind of energy reinforcing bones was a minor but positive permanent change. He needed to be certain ‘corruption’ was merely a poorly used term. Celestial also didn’t hurt like restoring with another Essence type did. ‘Corruption’ could not have its meaning skewed or identity bent, so he decided to work with only one type for the entire creature. Hours went by before he was done, needing to wipe off his forehead several more times in the process.
In only a few seconds, a full canteen and half had been drained, and now, Artorian felt rather spent. Somewhere midway through the care, he’d bared his top half, allowing passive cultivation to hit him as the sun was crawling higher into the sky. “There we… go.”
When the snoozing pipsqueak woke, it was up and running immediately. He hoped there’d be no unfortunate side effects, and the health of the glider had visibly improved. This did wonders for his mood, as he was going to be doing terrible things soon. Hungry, he leaned over and unwrapped an apple, cutting off the slimmest of slivers to give them to the energetic sugar glider.
“Do you like apple? I hope you like apple. I’ve many of them.” With the speed the sliver vanished into the crunching, little snout, he’d take that as a positive. Seeing as how their companion had not been harmed, other sugar gliders had taken to crawling all over him and his blanket. They were coming to touch noses with their previously injured family member. Artorian moved his hands out of the way as the glider family nuzzled up to the runt and nudged, licked, and held the fallen fluffling. It was heartwarming. “I love these fluffs!”
He spent the next half hour snacking and carving slivers off his apples, feeding it to an ever-growing pile of gliders who grew ever less shy. He soon had them crawling up his beard, shoulders, and blanket. A few even nested underneath where it was warm, and others still were making his dropped robe wiggle as they walked through it. “Hmm. Big family.”
Artorian had a good-natured chuckle, happily discovering he could pet a few of them. This was nice, but the old warrior sighed as he took a stern Essence-cycled glance at the keep. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he took at the impressive numbers.
“Are they all just out and about? Why would they…”
His heart nearly leaped from his chest as his blood pressure spiked. There… against the wall near an open door… her back pressed to it—even clad in different attire and carrying a few years of age that had really done well for her—stood a recognizable Lunella. In fact, she was incredibly recognizable. You could see that position from absolutely anywhere.
“Ooh. Clever, Lunella, clever!” He punched the air with his free hand and rejoiced in the wit she was exhibiting without a single soul catching on. Several gliders discovered what being launched was like during his sky-punching exuberance. “You wanted me to know you were alive and fine! Oh, thank you!”
His breath hitched, eyes wet from emotion. Good heavens did he feel proud. He didn’t even realize he was nodding in approval until Wux joined her! His skin felt electric from sheer joy. “Excellent! Oh. Is that a scar? Oh my, it is.”
Still, it gave him some character, and hopefully, he could keep it at just one. Well… based on their proximity to one another, the boy’s knee was a valid target for an arrow. He hoped they hadn’t had any issues, but then again… it was likely that a romance was just budding. They did look somewhat awkward. Still, he certainly wasn’t going to tease them for finding comfort in such a terrible situation.
“Good show, my boy. Good show.” Now. Was it just the two of them? They’d been the oldest, and it was possible their younger Salt friends were kept elsewhere. “One obsession at a time, old man. Count your opponents.”
Something was… off. For some odd reason, a large chunk—if not the entirety—of the enemy force had exposed itself. He counted… fifty-seven. That many? That was an incredible number to remain behind. Just how large had that war party been?
The clerics would certainly have their work cut out for them; perhaps that bought him a day. The raiders he could see certainly appeared haggard… Had they slept? Didn’t look like it. That was excellent since Artorian wasn’t going to strike during the day; sunlight was too valuable to waste.
The sugar gliders around him appeared content. He ate a second sandwich and downed more water. The crumbs were plentiful, so the gliders made a game out of hunting the scraps down to eat. Artorian settled himself cozily back down and slipped into active cultivation. His Center exploded with light as energy crashed into it, the slow, passive spins tightening to crisp, controlled rotations. One ring helped move another, and soon, the entire Center mimicked a bright star.
With his intake settled, he got straight to refining. The purity of the light visibly lanced away minuscule amounts of gathered corruption. The corruption disintegrated at a fast enough rate to chip away at the stored excess as well. His Essence poured, and the ground around him gave a *thrum* as the overabundant energy radiated off his Aura. While minute, shadows in the vicinity retreated, and the local area warmed. He didn’t notice that the sugar gliders bundled up against his sides… He was also unaware of the free-floating Essence that built in density around him.
He provided comfort, and the gliders cozily lounged, basking in the Essence-rich dome. A while later, a few of them began to steal apple after apple from his pack, having figured out how to undo cloth folding.
The ground didn’t have any further reaction, and there was nearly no additional fluctuation in his surroundings as his pull went tall rather than wide. He didn’t bother pulling from the earth, avoiding it like a bad toothache. It only gave him corruption. Instead, his focus shifted to drawing purely from the heavens. Artorian’s surroundings thrived without his notice as his pull of Essence that couldn’t be absorbed spilled over.
The sugar gliders didn’t mind the extra comfort, and after such a big and easy meal, they all settled to nap on and around the long-bearded, friendly thing. He remained in that position until evening, when the sun dipped the last of its light back over the horizon. When Artorian came to—finally pulled from inwards focus—he found that his beard had gained weight. Specifically, the weight of a particularly large and healthy-looking glider that had made itself cozy. The old man didn’t recognize this one.
It had stark white fur that matched his snowy beard instead of the subtle, varying dark grays of its companions. It was missing the thin black strip that ran down the spine of the others as well. The long, floofy tail was the same, just thicker and puffier. They were all sweeties as far as he was concerned, so as the bleached puff was healthy, he let the larger-than-average critter nest without concern.
Artorian slowly unearthed himself from the entrenched fluff-bunker. The number of furballs that leaped off of him was larger than he’d expected, but that was fine. He began his required stretches, and the gliders saw fit to use him as a living playset while he moved about. He left his shirt, under robe, and Lapis robe at his campsite to let the fuzzy, little sweethearts crawl around in it. It took some doing to string his bow with the little distractions, but that didn’t deter him from setting up his firing line.
“Let’s see now…” he muttered to himself as he cycled refined Essence, the darkness lifting to a far more visible view.
“Good number of obstacles. That’s a lo
t of raiders still outside. I wonder if they got a sunburn?” he mused as he counted again. Fifty-five. Stable enough when compared to his prior count this morning. He was going to give himself a world of hurt if he bolstered infrared again. Then again, with the additional torches and smorgasbord of targets, what he was currently using was enough. Setting his feet into the stable L-shaped position, he drew an arrow, aimed for a man at the top of the tower, and released.
*Fwiii*!
Chapter Forty-Six
Tumulo had been in a heated debate with his friend, who had resorted to quietly grunting as the southerner just kept on talking and talking. So, it didn’t come as a big surprise when his non-responsive conversation partner slumped into the corner with a sharp… snore?
Falling asleep in the middle of the conversation? That was a new level of rude. Moving the torch closer to nudge and wake the other up, the lookout’s eyes went wide in dread as he saw the arrow. Tumulo took a breath to scream the alarm, but a second *whizz* silenced the otherwise endlessly chatty raider.
After the seventh raider was counted under Artorian’s breath, questions started to be raised about the strange noises. Movement picked up in the keep, and when a replacement raider came to swap out the guards on top of the tower, he found that both were punctured. Someone had been sniping them, starting at the highest position and working their way down. Peering across the edge, the raider could see where people in lower positions were slumped. Panic jumped into his throat, his sudden attention letting him hear an incoming *fwiii*.
He reflexively ducked for cover, unwilling to take the risk that it might be something other than death. The arrow meant to slit his throat plinked off stone and his breath found words, “Alarm! Under attack!”
Additional torches were lit and raised to help pinpoint the position they were being murdered from. Unfortunately for them, without the obvious giveaway of the crimson light, they shot blindly into the forest, hoping they would hit something.
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