Blood Ties

Morwyn stared at the neat row of hasty cairns with numb detachment. Twelve piles of stone. Twelve bodies that had once held life and laughter and love. Twelve men and women who had given everything to protect the ones they loved. Twelve friends that she would never be able to speak to again. Twelve people who had risked everything to give the rest of them a chance to start a new life. Twelve names who would only be remembered by those who carried on, lost to the rest of the uncaring world.

Though she hadn't been close to most of those who had died, their cruel loss still cut deeply into Morwyn's heart. She knew them as cooks, as woodworkers, as apprentice smiths, as fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters. They'd been loyal hands that helped when times were hard, good people that sang and laughed and passed out drinks when times were easy. Each day she'd spent with the caravan without getting to know them all felt like time wasted in the worst of ways. Each one had a story, one that she could now only hear from others in whispered remembrance.

Gildara, William, and George still hurt the worst.

At least she'd been with Gildara at her end and it had been a quick death, as awful as it had been, and in the aftermath Yvonne still chose to stand beside her during the silent funeral without malice. They hadn't found William and his father until they'd gone about the grim task of sorting through the piles of goblins looking for those who were unaccounted for. George had been found prostrated over his son's body to keep it from being hacked to pieces by their vicious, bloodthirsty foes. Lily's screams and Samuel's choking sobs still echoed in Morwyn's mind as the caravan stood in a silent circle around the graves of their fallen comrades. She watched on with only passive awareness as each member of the caravan stepped forward to speak over their friends and loved ones, her mind hazy as she tried to remember the faces of the dead while they'd still been alive.

The triage after the battle had been brutal. Due to Hazel's dwindling supplies and her own limited pool of magic, they'd been forced to sort those who stood a chance at recovering and those who were beyond assistance. They'd gone about their task in near silence, communicating mostly with tired nods or disappointing shakes of the head. Morwyn knew that if she'd been forced to face the task of deciding who lived and died alone it would have broken her completely. Sharing the wretched work with Hazel didn't lessen the impact, but at least neither of them were alone in their misery.

Now they stood side by side in the watery light of dawn, Morwyn's right arm wrapped in both of Hazel's as the halfling clung to her and shook with silent sobs while Rennock placed the final stone atop each of the cairns. As each stone came to rest atop a grave, a small stream of brilliant silver sparks flowed down from the old wizard's fingertips and enveloped the cairn in soft light, melding the stones together into an impenetrable mass of gleaming iron. At any other time Morwyn would've been impressed, but at that moment she couldn't summon the energy to even be curious. The foul stench from the mass of goblins they'd thrown out of sight down the slope carried to them on the wind and made her nauseous.

Rennock stepped back from the final cairn and folded his arms into his sleeves, sorrow etched into his ancient features as he scanned the dwindled crowd before him for a long moment of heavy silence.

“My friends,” he spoke at last, his deep voice steady yet laden with sorrow, “last night we suffered an unthinkable loss. Such an attack has never occurred in all my many years of directing this caravan, and I am sorry that I was unable to prevent it. This journey has always been dangerous but never have we been waylaid in such a manner. I have failed you, and for that I must beg your forgiveness.”

A dozen voices simultaneously rose in protest but Rennock silenced them with a raised hand. He drew several deep breaths before returning the hand to his opposite sleeve. The white bandage wound tightly around his head, stained red with seeping blood, lent a fierceness to his appearance that didn't match the soft sadness in his eyes.

“These deaths do indeed fall upon my shoulders whether or not you agree. I have kept most of you in the dark regarding a new threat that has plagued us since at least the Narrows, one that I did not anticipate and have thus far been unable to counter. We are hunted by a powerful mage that wishes destruction upon our caravan.”

Morwyn watched on with mounting dread as she saw the fear and confusion on the faces of her comrades. Concerned whispers broke out amongst the group and Rennock waited until they calmed before he continued.

“This mage is responsible for many of our woes, including the attack last night. I finally met them in battle atop the mountain while you were besieged, else I would have come to your aid. Though I was able to injure them and break their enchantments I was not able to put an end to them. They may yet return once they have recovered.”

Those for whom the information was new wore their fear and alarm plainly on their faces, yet not one among them appeared to be angry. Morwyn's stomach twisted in a knot and her pulse began to rise. All of this had been her fault. If not for her, they would never have come to such loss. She unconsciously squeezed Hazel's hand more tightly than she intended. The halfling winced and looked up to her but didn't let go of her arm.

“What's the matter?” she whispered, her brows knit with concern. Morwyn swallowed the lump in her throat, unable to meet Hazel's gaze.

“This isn't right... It's my fault. All of it.”

Hazel frowned and leaned against her, massaging her forearm with both hands.

“Don't say that, dear, we did everything we could. I know better than anyone that old habits are hard to shake, but we can't blame ourselves for not being able to save everyone. There were just... too many for us. Of course we couldn't save them all-”

“That's not what I mean,” Morwyn murmured, her jaw clenching as she mulled things over in her mind. After a moment she slowly extracted her arm from Hazel's grasp and laid the hand gently on her shoulder. “It is my fault, and you all have a right to know. I'll understand if you don't forgive me for not telling you sooner.”

“What in the hells are you talking about?” Hazel hissed in confusion as Morwyn stepped forward from the line. She made to follow but Morwyn held up a hand and shook her head. Hazel stopped in her tracks and stared at her in confusion as Morwyn trudged toward Rennock at the center of the little semi-circle of grieving folk. The old wizard gave her a painfully kind look as she approached.

*You do not have to do this. As I said, the fault is mine, not yours.*

I need to. Even if we can't share the details, they deserve to know that I'm the one who brought this danger to them. Would it be better for them to find out later, or from someone else?

Rennock held her gaze for a long moment, then lowered his head and held out a hand as he took a step back. The crowd went still at his gesture and Morwyn turned around to face the survivors, her heart hammering as she looked to each of them in turn. She knew that once the words left her lips there was no taking it back, no going back to the way things were. There would be only one course of action left to her. Resigned to her fate Morwyn cleared her throat and spoke softly, stuttering as she fought fought for the words before her voice steadied and rose enough for all to hear.

“Rennock is kind to shoulder the blame, but... it is not his to bear. I am responsible for this attack and other misfortunes as well. This mad mage hunts me, not you. Your friends, your family, your loved ones have died on my account.”

An eerie silence took over the caravan. No protests, no whispers, no angry shouts, only looks of confusion and dismay. Argoth frowned and crossed his arms while Trux and Eronir glanced at each other worriedly. A look of startled shock twisted Yvonne's already grief-stricken face. Hazel's mouth was open as if she were about to say something, but no words came out. Morwyn dropped her gaze to the ground and dragged one fingernail beneath the others, scraping free the mud and blood dried beneath them.

“Once we've salvaged what supplies we can from the wagons, I... I'll take my leave. I won't... I can't have any more of you suffer on my account. I'm sorry for what I've put you through already. I just... thought you should know before I go.”

When she looked back up, Morwyn saw the same look in Hazel's eyes as she had in Anna's all those years ago. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion. Disbelief. Then something else replaced them all, as clear and strong an emotion as Morwyn had ever seen in her life.

Defiance.

“Absolutely not,” Hazel nearly shouted, striding forward and throwing her arms around Morwyn's waist in an embrace so tight she could feel the rings of her chain-mail dig into her through the layers beneath. “I don't care if the entire world is against you, I will not let you go. If you try to leave us I swear to the gods I will hamstring you and drag you to the end myself.”

Lily, with a whimpering Samuel clutched to her chest with one arm, stepped forward and placed a hand on Morwyn's shoulder.

“My boys...” she said in a choked whisper. “My boys are gone, but I know in my heart they would never blame you, nor want you to leave. Stay with us. Please.”

Morwyn tried to respond, to protest, but emotion gripped her throat like an iron vise as Samuel threw his arms around her neck and held her tightly as he sobbed. After a moment his mother gently pried him off of her and stepped back to make room as others began to approach.

“Yer one of us, lass,” Gildur murmured hoarsely as he patted her arm, half his face obscured by a bloody bandage. “Whatever threatens any of us will answer to all of us.”

Yvonne circled around behind her, a mixture of emotions battling for dominance on her face. She wrung her hands for a moment then leaned in close, whispering under her breath over Morwyn's shoulder.

“My sister gave her life to defend us, all of us, and that includes you. Don't let her sacrifice be in vain. That is the one thing I couldn't forgive.”

Tears she didn't think she had left began to fall down Morwyn's cheeks as others closed in around her, murmuring various affirmations and a multitude of reasons for her to stay. She wanted nothing more than to run away from the outpouring of solidarity and affection, to escape the agony of their understanding and acceptance. In the faces of those she'd healed with her magic she caught glimpses of the dead she'd been unable to save. She grew faint as her breathing became ragged in the claustrophobic huddle of people who cared for her, people who didn't seem to understand that everything wrong in their lives at the moment was her fault. She refused to accept it, refused to believe she was worthy to even stand among them.

Her fellow guards, who had already known and accepted the danger she'd unwittingly brought with her, were the last to step forward. Eronir caught her eye and gave her a solemn bow of his head as he placed a fist over his heart in a salute. Trux crossed her arms and gave her a stern look that was softened with the slightest hint of an exhausted smile. The crowd then parted easily for Argoth as he stepped up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He glanced down at Hazel, who was practically fused to Morwyn's waist, and chuckled humorlessly.

“Unfortunately for you, leavin' us ain't gonna be that easy. I'm with Hazel on this one. Just try and run off, see what happens.” The orc's tone grew serious as he leaned in, his one eye staring meaningfully into hers. “We need you, Morwyn. You know that much. What you're struggling with is the fact that you need us too, and that we're happy to risk it all on your behalf. Trouble is that you don't get to decide how much you mean to us. I may be your boss, but I'm also your friend. I won't let you run off and die on your own.”

Riddled with guilt and shame while simultaneously overcome by bittersweet joy, Morwyn glanced past the crowd to Rennock, who stood alone several paces away with a tired smile on his weathered and weary face. He drew his pipe from within his robes and lit it with a snap of his fingers, puffing out thick white smoke that was quickly swept away in the chill wind of the mountain pass.

“I believe the caravan has spoken, dear one. Will you accept their decision to stand with you, as you have stood with them?”

Morwyn sniffed and struggled to free a hand to wipe her eyes, then wrapped the other arm around Hazel's shoulders and held her close as the others began to step back. She nodded shakily to each of them with gratitude, breathing easier as space opened up around her. The crushing weight of her guilty conscience began to slowly abate. Though it didn't subside completely, a fire of determination also burned fiercely in her chest. However, despite the kind words and stubborn insistence of her allies, it was something else entirely that steeled her resolve.

Someone was threatened enough by her mere existence to willfully harm the innocent in an effort to kill her. She would find them, and she would kill them.

“Alright, I get the message. I'll stay,” she said shakily, grunting as Hazel's embrace nearly doubled in strength. She let out a strangled chuckle as she continued to wipe her tears with a rueful smile. Her face grew somber as she cast her gaze over the caravan once more. “I do regret that my presence has brought you to harm... but I will do everything in my power to prevent it from happening again.”

“As will I,” Rennock said, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Aye, me too,” Argoth grunted. “Won't be much left if I get my hands on 'em.”

“Only if you beat me to 'em,” Trux growled.

“We're all in this together,” Eronir said with a decisive nod.

“I've got a score to settle as well,” Yvonne muttered as she took Eronir's hand.

“This bloody mage better pray to the gods,” Hazel said, finally relaxing her embrace and stepping back to dash her tears from her flushed cheeks. “If I get the chance, I'll turn them inside out for what they've done to us. For what they've done to you.”

Morwyn wiped her face with both hands and let out a long, slow breath. She looked around at the mess of broken wagons, the few surviving oxen that wandered around aimlessly, and the thick pools of drying blood on the ground. After taking several more deep breaths to steady herself, she made eye contact with Argoth and gave him a nod.

“Alright then,” the big orc said, his voice echoing across the pass as it rose in volume. “We've got work to do, so let's get to it. We can say our final goodbyes to the fallen once we've salvaged this mess. We'll move out tomorrow morning.”