August’s wrists burned from memory, but the pain mercifully brought his mind back to itself. Absent-mindedly, he massaged the long-healed cuts from the ropes which bound him years ago. The body heals but the mind does not always follow. Slowly, his boots find the squelchy, mottled ground underneath. With heavy footsteps, he shambled forward as fingers of mud clawed away at his feet, threatening to pull him down in a filthy embrace he might not ever escape. At least it would hinder his quarry to a similar degree. August hoped as much, at least.

  Something stirred in his gut, an unease which brought fresh tension he couldn’t explain or even fully comprehend. He just knew he was compelled by something beyond himself. Compelled to do what exactly remained a mystery. His hand shot backwards to the bow still comfortingly slung on his back. A white-knuckled grip readied it and notched an arrow. He didn’t know how he knew, but something was coming for him.

  A metallic, glimmering sound crept over his shoulder and wormed into his ear. A blade scraping against stone, taunting him with its lack of stealth and still several paces away. If August was quick enough, he could fire the arrow before he was in too much danger. Of course, if he was too quick, the cornnus bastard would have ample time to deflect the attack with a twitch of his wing. Every cornnae had reflexes faster than all but the best trained Daashmians, his timing would have to be flawless.

  It wasn’t. The arrow flew true, but too early. It clattered uselessly to the ground as Zeltz continued his charge, shielded by one of his blue wings. August backpedaled quickly, doing his best to not stick or slip in the slimy soil. He was as successful in achieving this goal as he was the previous, with clammy arms of muck clinging to him like a long-unseen companion.

  His enemy unleashed a guttural roar, enhanced by the thunder and rain, and closed the remaining gap quickly. August, with rapid reflexes, kicked Zeltz’s leather-clad boot, un-standing him and aiding a clumsy slip. Bladed hands arced down at his face, forcing August to clench his eyes. A splash, a clang, and a heavy grunt later, those eyes teetered open.

  Lips twisted by pure rage failed to restrain spittle venomously flung at him, though it was heavily diluted by the rain, he wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t. His eyes swiveled and what he saw offered proof fate wasn’t yet done with him. Zeltz’s arms were held fast, with the razors on his gauntlets somehow avoiding even a glancing blow, stuck deep in the earth. Stuck to the point of pinning them both to the ground, unable to move.

  Zetlz grunted and growled with blood raged pupils to free himself from the muck but nothing availed his efforts. For a moment, August considered the possibility his enemy might attempt to crash down on him with bared teeth and rip his flesh from his face. Zeltz, it seemed, was too civilized for such a tactic.

  “Well, it seems we have a minute to discuss things, unless you have somewhere to be. My name is Zeltz, may I request yours?”

  His smooth voice struck August harder than any fist might have in the moment. It was refined and gracious, like a member of a high court. He couldn’t recall anyone in the Archirides tribe ever demonstrating restrained speech, usually they preferred to discuss the quickest and most efficient ways to hunt beasts, two legged or four legged.

  Gasping past the pouring water, “I am a member of the Moonlit Blades, but to one such as you, I have no name.”

  Zeltz squinted at him with a tilted head, looking past the light beard and mud for something to tell him more. August returned the squint with a defiant glare.

  “The Moonlit Blades? Can’t say I’ve heard of them. Wait, no name-”

  His eyelids fled from each other, followed by a quiet but forceful gasp. Two more squelches and a snap like a dry twig cut apart the night as August’s red hand emerged from beneath the nearly-developed corpse, his fingers uncurled around an arrow shaft, recently broken off from the arrowhead now lodged underneath Zeltz’s ribcage. The warmth of blood seeped through August’s abdomen, blood of the Archirides cornnus. He found a way past his wings.

  His previous defiance ceded to a raw rage as he crunched his forehead into the frozen face once, twice, and a final time. The spirit of Zeltz fled his body, leaving it limp on top of the young-faced mercenary. A primal roar emerged from his throat as he pushed with every bit of his strength, eager to be free of this deceased binding.

  As a reward for his efforts, something cracked and gave way. The dead cornnus rolled over with deep marks cut into his forearms as his blades remained in the ground. A fitting gravemark for a warrior. August rolled his own body the opposite direction and crawled to his knees. There was neither the time nor the grace of weather to remove Zeltz’s wings, he would have to come back for them. On the other hand, Abakk could just get over the lost profit. If August was lucky, his body would still serve some use, the orange wings of Jovi would fetch a much higher bounty, anyway.

  He leaned over the corpse and patted the pockets, searching for some assistance. There, in the right hip pouch, he found what he was after. In his palm rolled a small brass cylinder, narrow on one end and flared out towards the other. A deep grove of trees was etched around it, surely put there by the former owner’s personal efforts, a recreation of the forests he called home. August softly ran his thumb across the design, paying respects. He pressed the cold metal to his lips and exhaled, feathering the air with his tongue. The sound it produced mirrored perfectly the call of a Southern Yellowcrest, a high but quickly descending trill. Zeltz was highly honored in his tribe, only the bravest of warriors carried a crestcall for signaling his brothers.

  Now he just needed to find the tracks of the remaining two. Quickly locating Zeltz’s tracks with his sharp eyes, he reversed them until they met up with two more sets. Fortune offered its hand towards August, a rare experience to him. He glanced up at the sky, the moon must be hiding up there somewhere, but the trapped illumination of the lightning sufficed. He went back to Zeltz, tore off two large strips of his garments and stored them in his pouch. Perhaps the predators and scavengers would leave the body undisturbed until he returned, he could still use those wings. Perhaps not. A glint caught his eye. Placed there, by fortune maybe, was the arrow he fired earlier. His supply was back up to two.

  Returning to the tracks, he picked up speed, eyes locked ahead to catch any lurking snag or stone which so eagerly desired to catch his boot and yank him down. The air, altered, trembled around him. A whisper of anguish, of fear, of resistance, pressed just beyond his reach, but present all the same. If he listened, maybe he could heed the warning they carried and be spared from further burden. But no, his heart was hardened and determined. Only death could change his path.

  His dogged determination was soon rewarded. After a brief and vicious sprint through the growing forest, he saw flashes of blue and orange up ahead. He crept forward, gaining on them faster than he allowed himself to hope, footsteps still muffled by rain and thunder. They were moving slowly, tripping nearly every other step it seemed. Jovi’s boots were nearly consumed by the mud, but both their wings still burned with vibrant color, immune to the muck.

  A new tactic came to mind, August lifted his voice above the noise, “The little is out of place in these scary woods! Clearly, the Daashmian forest isn’t as kind as your soft Peridonian trees!”

  The cornnae stopped and jerked, unable to locate the source of the voice in all the chaos, “show yourself, you coward!” Ixta bellowed into the trees.

  August deliberately picked his steps in an eastward arc around them, “What’s wrong, Ixta? You still have a chance to survive today. Clearly you have practice in forest-craft, your young friend is nothing but a liability to you. Save yourself! I’ll even allow you to return Zeltz’s crestcall to his heirs.”

  Without thinking, Ixta clenched his wings around himself and flung out his fists, covered in their armaments. “You are a gutless worm, wholly depleted of honor! Go back to your masters, lick their boots and tell them of your worthlessness! Your own mother’s womb couldn’t purge you fast enough!”

  August’s hands twitched with fury and in a single motion, he drew back his bow and fired an arrow directly at Ixta’s unguarded eye. It whistled a deathknell through the air, slicing through droplets of rain.

  “My honor was stolen from me!”

  August blinked, and forced himself to blink again when he saw the arrow land limply to the ground. Faster than his eye could even perceive, Ixta somehow raised his wing to deflect his demise. And now he knew where August was.

  With wide eyes, he saw the Cornnus boar rush towards him, almost seeming to shove aside even the trees with his battle-summoned rage. Jovi fled in no particular direction, just away.

  “You have spilled our blood, yours must now pay the debt!”

  August barely managed to lower his head as Ixta threw forward his right fist, pinning some of August’s auburn hair to the tree. With pain barely below his panic, he threw himself to the left, leaving behind several strands of hair.

  Ixta cranked his arm back, gutting the tree and sending shards of wet bark into the air. He turned towards August and held his hand up, chuckling at the hair dangling from the blade, “pretty quick for a fledgling. Now, kneel and beg for mercy. Maybe the gods will stay my hand.”

  “Your gods abandoned me ages ago, now only blood and steel watch over me.”

  Ixta drew himself up, standing at his full height, August realized just how tall this cornnus actually was. Ixta flapped his wings out once, revealing his garments. He wore the silver crest, a blossoming tree with blue gems for fruit, of an Archirides master, second only to the tribal patriarch himself in their family. Zeltz was the lesser of the two, August realized with a stab of fear.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  One arrow left, close combat, and an enormous royal cornnae filled with vengeance. To the trees and hope he could generate some distance for a clean shot. August leaned forward into a run, feinted downward for a slide under his opponent’s swing, but instead launched himself over and landed into an awkward roll. Bounding forward, he placed his boot on a boulder and jumped to a high branch. Relying on his ears to track what was behind him, he heard Ixta thrash after him.

  “Come down and face me, child!”

  “I refuse!”

  August hoisted himself upwards with his arms, scrambling to the highest sturdy branches the tree granted him. Daashmian trees didn’t often grow tall, but they grew wide and dense. He was soon obscured by a nest of green, clattering above and away from the furious pursuer. Finding shelter in trees felt like a divine joke to him at the moment.

  After fleeing a brief distance, he reigned himself in and paused, listening for any signs of Ixta. His ears were met with a violent silence. He tried to slow his breathing, but his heart begged him for more oxygen. His hands trembled against the soaked branches.

  “You little whelp!”

  A sudden crash beneath him jolted his feet into the air. Lucky, too, as the branch he was just standing on was violently yanked free from the trunk. He looked down and saw the flash of anger coming from Ixta’s eyes. Something metal flew up at him, biting his cheek as it cut by. Crimson drops fell almost immediately as Ixta drew back his arm again to throw a second dagger at August. Instinctively, he raised his forearm in front of his face, catching the blade with his leather bracer. He winced and tilted over as it stuck through the leather and into his flesh. With a pained grunt, he ripped it out of his arm.

  “My turn, you worthless protector!”

  He hurled the dagger down, Ixta tried to block with his wings over his face but August instead directed his shot at the cornnae’s exposed right thigh.

  “Ahh!”

  Ixta fell to the ground like thunder. As he laid there, August drew his bow, and cursed the night after seeing the big brute’s wings fell over his vitals. He swallowed his anger for a moment, and moved onward to the next tree. He needed to think of something fast, Ixta was too disciplined to leave himself vulnerable.

  “Come and get me, old bird!”

  He had to get higher, Ixta’s wounded leg would slow him down and make climbing difficult. August gasped out in pain as he remembered his own, albeit less severe, wounds. He tightened the straps on his bracer, pushed away the feeling and ascended towards the highest tree he could find. Lightning broke the sky overhead. August felt this was about to end at last, one way or the other, as the hair on his arms stood up.

  Ixta pulled himself up after August, this time abandoning any need for stealth. August turned towards him and saw the wound hadn’t slowed him in the slightest. If anything, the pain was only fueling him. The blade still stuck out of his thigh, faintly trickling blood. The next strike had to be a killshot, then. Nothing less would keep him breathing.

  August was still faster than the big man on top of the trees, thanks to his lighter feet, and, thanks to his head start, managed to outrace him to the apex of the forest. After some time, he twisted back and could only hear Ixta behind him. Good.

  Taking a moment to examine his surroundings, he spotted a small clearing some ways to the north. Then, he quickly removed his cloak and draped it over the branches, halfway on the far side of the tree but still hopefully visible. Ixta still hadn’t emerged from the canopy below. He would have enough time if he hurried.

  With a tired shout, “come and end this now. You or me! Only one of us walks away tonight.”

  Ixta didn’t respond, but August heard his increased speed, telling him his call worked. He slowly and quietly descended the branches, now struggling from all the rain pelting his fully exposed clothing. Mercifully, he made it down to the ground and sprinted as fast as he could towards the north. As he reached it, he almost collapsed. Taking a deep breath, he slowly lowered himself to one knee and spotted the tree he placed his bait on.

  Ixta slashed his blade through August’s cloak, shredding it beyond repair. He cast his eyes around, searching for the young mercenary.

  August called out, “over here, you worthless master! Zeltz has fallen, and Jovi will die right after you! Your name will be blotted from the Archiredes wall and your children will be given a new father! Gaius will be eager to forget your name as he forgot the name of his own son!”

  Even from a distance, August could see Ixta’s face fall and twist with rage, “that boy broke our sacred laws! I am giving my life to protect them!”

  “Then come and give it, my friend! Redeem the blood I spilled, your broken laws!”

  Ixta spotted August and, seeing how far away the two were from each other, balanced himself on the branches. Stooping, he clipped the bottom of his wings into fasteners on the outside of each of his boots. He then spread his wings to their full ten foot span, blotting out much of the night sky. He launched himself from the tree, angled his body forward, and sped towards August with both bladed gauntlets held forward. The air caught his wings, gliding him on a path of finality.

  August leaned back on one leg, drew his bow and last arrow, and waited. If he fired too soon, Ixta could still cover himself with a wing. He put both their lives in the hands of fate. Ixta yelled at the top of his lungs, drowning out the rain as he grew rapidly closer. The sky crackled white, and August, with mere inches between his chest and Ixta’s blades, fired the arrow.

  Ixta’s head snapped back, August twisted down, and the large cornnae tumbled over him. Ixta’s momentum carried him many feet away, and onto his back. Drawing in heavy breaths August saw the arrow sticking directly out of the left eye socket.

  He whispered into the air, “mercy or doom, you have carried me through yet again,” and spat into the night.

  The rain, at last, eased its baleful din, leaving only faint scatterings of droplets to linger. Thunder retreated to its sky-bound fortress, occasionally restating violent intentions to any who forgot. August, drenched to his spine, shivered, even before the chilly breeze jeered through the trees. It gently pushed at his back, urging him to return to where he last saw the young survivor.

  “Mercy or doom, indeed,” he wryly chuckled. “Fate is such a joke.”

  August tore through bramble and branch, the clinging, cold material of his garments stiffened his joints and agitated the noise of his movements. Sneaking around was the farthest thing from his mind at this point, anyway. His fingers, still hard curled around his bow, twitched, eager to move, eager to be at rest. Jovi wouldn't be far, August would have wagered he'd never even been in a forest beyond Peridonia in his entire life. The trees grew differently, wild, angry, and chaotic. It was even possible Jovi had broken his own neck, tripping on an unruly root. August would not rule it out, and would soon find out, regardless.

  It wasn't a long search before he had his answers. Only a short distance from where August last saw him, Jovi slowly trekked forward with shuddering limbs. He turned back, perhaps looking for his guardian, and August took in his face once more. A boy, really, nearly identical to some of the 15 year old trainees he had encountered in Daashmio, although his youth was enhanced by the slower aging of the cornnus. And yet, as a royal heir, he carried the burdens of entire tribes upon his wings. Maybe offering him death would be a mercy…

  A tardy break of thunder forced August to blink, pulling astray his caravan of thought. The face, he saw his own echoed in it. Did he have it in him to kill a child? He'd fought people younger before, they were armed and determined to gut him first. But a defenseless boy? A prince? Slowly, he hung his bow around a broken branch, along with his nearly depleted quiver. He stepped forward, drawing a short blade from his belt, and breathed heavily.

  “Enough running, Jovi. Your protectors weren’t enough to stop me, your clumsy feet won’t be enough to get away from me. Show your backbone and stand your ground.”

  The young cornnus froze in mid-scramble, trembling, breathing heavily, but defiantly. There was spark in him, still. August couldn’t suppress a vague smile and for a moment wondered if this would be more of a fight than anticipated. Rodaks were no pushovers, after all. Especially one claimed by Gaius as successor.

  “You have no honor, human. Using tricks and deception to kill what you know is better than you.”

  Rodaks were also prideful bastards.

  “You’re a child, you haven’t yet learned the folly of honor. The only thing of real consequence is who’s still standing every moonrise. Cornnae hang every word, every breath on decayed ideals. It might look shiny on the surface, but ultimately sunders you from each other whenever things grow dark. I’ve dealt with your kind, and they were cowards, the whole lot of them. It's a wonder they have any society left.”

  Defiance arose from Jovi, emanating from his entirety, “ our ideals preserve and protect us! They’re what hold us together whenever one of our number grows weak or is taken by your ilk! Our history cannot exist without our bond, and our bond only exists because of our honor!”

  August scoffs back, “your bond? You have clearly forgotten the exiled among you, the ones cast out for the sake of honor. The ones borne from shame, the ones bearing disfigurement, the law breakers, the criminals, all who fall short of your laws. What bond so easily broken by shortcoming can be trusted?”

  With flexed wings and a rage-tinted voice, Jovi responds, “not all are meant to walk our path, but we trust in the creators to watch over them! We were ordained to be set apart, living in such a way to shepherd all when the time comes. You are a faithless heathen, clearly forgotten by your mother’s bosom!”

  August’s left eye twitched, and, without thought, he flung a fallen branch at the boy. Jovi covered his face with both wings, sending the branch to the ground. Upon lowering his wings, he was greeted by August’s twisted smile, who cracked his forehead against the bridge of Jovi’s nose. Blood poured after one beat as he staggered back one step. Before he could retreat further, he was seized by his collar. He flailed his wings helplessly, but August was too close. A heavy punch to his gut doubled him over and he was allowed to fall forward freely, hands occupied by clutching his newly cracked rib, which therefore failed to break his fall.

  A few moments of silence, only filled by Jovi’s scattered, breathless coughs, seeped into the trees. Without the rain, the air quickly became thick and stale. Jovi’s wings fell spread out across the forest floor, like an enormous hide rug. August crouched down, drew his blade, raised his hand, and trembled. A ray of light broke through the clouds, illuminating the boy’s body while his wings remained in shadow. And between the coughs hid the sound of soft whimpers. For a moment, he let his anger forget the youth of the boy, but now he was forced to remember. His words had not been his own, instead placed there by years of repetition and forced study.

  August knelt low, and tucked the blade back into his belt, hanging his head beside the ear of Jovi, “open your eyes, young one. You are bound by laws you do not understand. Before you were a prince, you were but a baby. Gaius stole that from you, needing to replace his own son who he cast out for the sake of honor. I pray you are spared the death he was not.”

  August stood and raised his voice, stilling the tremor in his voice only the most perceptive of listeners would have caught, “Do you know what happens to a cornnus when its wings are removed? They are outcast, exiled, their names forgotten by all the rest, even expunged from the records. There is no greater horror one of your species could face than to live without wings. However, being dead and having them removed is less a dishonor, more a desecration. In such an instance, the dishonor falls upon the one who removed the wings. To still be living when your wings are cut, you would beg to have never grown from your parents home. I bear the disgrace of your friend’s wounds, I will not bear yours, nor force you to bear it.”

  Without another sound, he turned from his mission and walked away. He didn’t say anything when he claimed the wings of the fallen warriors, he didn’t say anything when he turned in the bounty to Abakk and claimed his payment, even ignoring the questions of the missing Rodak wings he was supposed to also return. Nor did he say anything when he at last turned home to his cave dwelling and removed his clothes, uncovering the two scars upon his back. The scars which now sat where his own two wings once grew. The wings of August Rodak, the banished son of Gaius Rodak.