“Ah.” Goron’s brow creased, and he put the piece of hardtack he’d been eating upon the stone floor. Szat snatched it up and crammed it into his mouth. “I thought you would want an easier life after what we’ve been through.”
“Huh,” Morwen scoffed. “I’ve no choice. If Wichsault is to survive, it will need the night mother’s help, and as her last emissary, the task falls to me.” The firelight gleamed in Morwen’s eyes. “What about you?”
Goron poked at the fire with a stick. “I’m tired, Morwen, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“What, be captain of the guard?”
“Any of it, the fighting, the drinking the…,” he trailed off embarrassed.
“The womanising,” Szat added his mouth bulging with a cracker.
“Yes, and that. I want to settle down, perhaps on one of the farms in Mournburn with a good woman and have children.”
Morwen burst out laughing. “The great warrior, Goron, scourge of his enemies and a threat to women’s knickers everywhere, wants to be a farmer. I don’t believe it.” It was absurd. It was comparable to Morwen, the bane of Wichsault’s sick and dying, declaring she wanted to join the Sisters of Murdus.
“People change,” Goron grumbled.
The smirk dropped from Morwen’s face. She didn’t realise Goron was the sensitive type.
A black-robed figure appeared in the doorway, as dark as the night outside and drifted toward the fire. At first Goron thought it was one of Morwen’s shadows come to do her bidding and remained seated, but when she scrambled for her weapon and jumped up, he did the same.
The figure ignored the commotion and sat by the fire laying a gnarled staff with black berries and green, thorny leaves sprouting from the wood, at his side. Szat yawned and stretched out by the fire.
“Who are you?” Morwen asked pointing her staff at the stranger.
He pulled back his cowl to reveal a hairless head as smooth and brown as polished ruinwood and eyes the colour of the waters of the River Grayl. “The name is Widon.”
“Widon, do you make it a habit to join a stranger’s fire uninvited?” Morwen said.
“You say that as if the forest is your own.” He stared at the ruinwood spluttering in the blaze.
“No more mine than anybody else’s.” Morwen lowered her staff and joined Widon at the fire. “I’m Morwen, the big fellow is Goron and the demon’s name is Szat.” Goron eyeballed Widon for a moment longer before he too sat back down.
“Are those berries edible?” Szat asked pointing a chubby finger at the staff.
Widon nodded. He plucked one and tossed it to the demon who caught it in his mouth and swallowed it whole. He threw Morwen and Goron one each, but they weren’t as trusting and pocketed them. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you said you’re from Wichsault.”
“Skulking around outside listening to us were you?” Morwen said.
Widon shook his head and smiled faintly. “An old man trying to get his courage up to warm himself by a stranger’s fire. People aren’t friendly, not like they used to be.”
Morwen didn’t think he looked old. There wasn’t a wrinkle on him.
“Don’t mind her, she’s not a people person,” Goron said. Morwen shot Goron a frosty glance.
“I know just how she feels,” Widon said.
Szat motioned frantically to his open mouth. Widon fired another berry in.
“We’re from Wichsault, and you?” Goron said.
“The forest. What brings you so far from the castle? He looked from one to the other before his gaze settled on Szat. “You don’t look like rangers especially the fat, little one.” Szat grinned his teeth blackened from the berries.
“We’re on a mission to find the source of the poisonous gas clouds that are blighting the castle,” Goron said. Morwen kicked out at his shin.
“There is no mystery in that. The mothras would hunt the world to extinction if they could.”
“We thought as much,” Goron said rubbing his shin. “Do they live near here?”
“Not far at all. In a grove of ancient trees near the river. If you left in the morning, you would be there by midday. It would be a good time as they don’t like the daylight and are weakened by it. Are you going to kill them?”
The question was said without emotion, but Morwen saw the keen interest in Widon’s eyes.
“Wichsault must be saved,” Morwen said.
“Moths to a flame,” Szat said. He pointed his finger skyward and shot a fireball out through a hole in the roof.
“Impressive magic,” Widon said watching the fiery comet sail through the night.
“Fool of a demon. You may as well be sending smoke signals to every evil entity in the forest to tell them we’re here,” Morwen complained.
Widon got to his feet. “I think the storm has eased off. I thank you for your hospitality.” He bowed and disappeared through the archway as suddenly as he had appeared.
“Delicious berries,” Szat said searching the ground where Widon had been sitting for more.
As if to make up for the intrusion of masonry, the forest wasted no time in staking its claim on the land. It threw up a canopy so dense the travellers walked in perpetual gloom. The only source of light came from the reflection of the sun on the grey waters of the river. Morwen felt entombed in the darkness as it pressed around her. She searched in vain amongst the sprawling branches and abundant foliage for a glimmer of light.
“It was easier to see in the caves,” Goron said stumbling over a tree root.
“I’m going to be sick,” Szat said from his perch atop Goron’s shoulder. He belched then heaved a string of black vomit down Goron’s back.
“That’s just great,” Goron said pushing the demon off his perch and rubbing his
