"Bequest" - Chapter 2: The Mercenaries

Content warning: This story contains fantasy violence - Reader’s discretion is advised.

(1,432 words - est. reading time: 6 min. Copyright © 2025, All Rights Reserved by J.E. Maurice - Cover art created with the help of a character base by twitter.com/JURASSlCJAY, and a stock photo of the Devil’s Bridge in Kromlau, Germany.)

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Mirosaer had watched the dark boat until it had disappeared down the ever-flowing river, drifting into the fog until even its torchlight was lost in the night. With his prince safely on route out of the country, the Nulwynn turned and made his way back into the woods, stopping before a large oak. A conglomerate of coiling vines of all sizes and species sprang to life across the forest floor, and slithered towards the tree, carelessly brushing fallen leaves aside.

Following Mirosaer’s will, they lifted him up into the branches above where he carefully concealed himself within the shadowy canopy, perching on a sturdy bough high above the ground. The vines—their task now complete—let themselves descend slowly back to the earth, leaving Mirosaer in the tree.

And there he waited; seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to over an hour.

It was close to sunrise before he heard voices, hushed and aggravated. His pointed ears swiveled to focus on the noise, catching whoever was speaking mid-sentence.

“…Is going to be furious he got away,” they were whispering anxiously. “I can’t believe he took out three of our grabbers on his own. We should’ve sent more.”

“I told ya,” another voice argued back gruffly, not doing quite as good a job of keeping their volume low. “Vorynth is tough, but he ain’t tough enough to kill three grabbers like that. It’s that blasted Nulwynn that’s always creepin’ around… he’s the one that done it.”

Mirosaer adjusted his grip, craning his neck to see if he could spot them as they approached, but it seemed that they were still too far away to pinpoint with his eyes.

“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” the first voice hissed. “Nulwynns don’t have any allegiances, Colvin, everyone knows that. He’d have sooner ditched Vorynth than fought for him.”

Two silhouettes finally emerged from the dawn’s gloom, trekking out of the woods from Thalwood Trail—the same direction that Prince Vorynth and Mirosaer had come from earlier that morning. The taller of the two was a bulky grizzly bear, who was covered in a set of light armor, and had a large shield slung over his left shoulder, as well as a battleaxe strapped across his back. He was trailing behind a female Kaelari—the exact same species as Vorynth, but wildly different in coloration. Her exoskeleton was black and green, making her form difficult to see in the dark forest she proceeded from. A long crossbow with a scope was buckled to her rucksack, and two daggers were slid into small sheaths along her belt.

They were mercenaries, of that Mirosaer had no doubt. If the dirty work was being outsourced to these lowlifes, perhaps the palace guards had not been compromised to the extent he had previously thought. The two continued to argue in hushed voices as Mirosaer hovered above them in the trees like a watchful spider, keeping his glowing gaze fixed on them. They passed under his hiding place, making their way to the riverbank.

“Three sets of footprints in the mud here,” the female Kaelari noted, crouching down to get a better view of the clues on the ground. “One’s a Kaelari… no doubt about that. That’d be Vorynth. Then there’s a set of cloven hooves there… and some kind of paw prints over here. Canine, maybe? Could be feline.”

“Could be Nulwynn,” the grizzly evidently named Colvin mumbled under his breath, but not loud enough for his companion to hear; the vines along the forest floor stirred like giant serpents behind him.

“And there are marks in the mud down there where a boat was pushed into the water,” the insectoid continued, pointing one of her clawed fingers at the water’s edge. “So… they all boarded a boat, and probably went southeast with the river’s current. If we want to catch them, we’ll need… wait… hold on… it looks like one of them didn’t get on the boat…?”

Before she had time to fully process what that fact entailed, the forest burst into motion behind her. The trees leaned down to swat at Colvin with their branches, sending him careening into the river with a noisy splash. Vines erupted from the ground like tentacles around the insectoid, coiling around her limbs, and pulling her to the ground to prevent her from fighting back. As she struggled against them in vain, she began to wonder if they were being attacked by dryads—the spirits of the trees—but the figure that soon emerged from the forest was no wood nymph. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw that familiar, skull-like face.

“I told ya!” a drenched Colvin barked at her as he dragged himself to the shoreline, retrieving his battleaxe from its holster. “I told ya it was the Nulwynn, Cerra, but ya didn’t listen!”

Mirosaer came to a stop before both of them, his glowing eyes burning vivid afterimages into their retinas. Cerra said nothing, focusing all her strength on breaking away from the vines that ensnared her. Colvin bravely took a step toward their attacker, sliding his shield down from his shoulder, and let his fingers wrap around its wooden handle. He brandished his weapons, his teeth bared aggressively.

“Put those away before you hurt yourself,” Mirosaer said flatly, evidently not intimidated by the grizzly whatsoever. “I have a question for both of you.”

“We got nothin’ to say,” Colvin snarled, failing to hide the unease in his voice. “Leave us be!”

Cerra continued to writhe and wrestle against the vines around her, but every time she broke free of one, another would take its place in keeping her pinned. Mirosaer, with a casual flick of his wrist, tore the battleaxe from Colvin’s grasp with a precise burst of telekinesis. The broad-bladed weapon sailed through the air to his clawed hand, and he caught it—as if the bear had tossed it to him willingly.

“You may find that you have more to say than you think,” he remarked, letting the axe drop to the muddy ground with an unceremonious clunk. “And I have little time for games.”

Colvin’s jaw opened and closed several times in shock, but no words came to him; gritting his teeth together, he slung his shield back over his shoulder, a clear gesture of temporary surrender. Cerra had exhausted herself by grappling against the vines, and finally ceased struggling. The two of them simply gazed at Mirosaer, waiting for his next move.

“It seems we are now on the same page,” the Nulwynn remarked dryly. “Excellent. Who do the two of you receive your orders from? Who gave the command to track down Prince Vorynth?”

The Kaelari and the grizzly bear glanced at one another wordlessly; Colvin returned his gaze to Mirosaer, but Cerra did not. She looked fixedly at the ground instead. They both kept their mouths shut tightly, as if worried an answer might leap out of its own accord. Several seconds ticked to the past in silence.

“Commander Geist,” Mirosaer said, staring into Colvin’s brown eyes. “He is traveling to the Riftlands to look for Vorynth as we speak. That is most interesting.”

“But… wait, how did—?” Colvin began, agog.

“He’s a telepath, you fool!” Cerra snapped at him, struggling against the vines again from pure frustration at her companion’s incompetence. “Don’t you know better than to look into a telepath’s eyes?!”

But it was too late. Now that Mirosaer had the information he needed, he had already turned and begun trekking southeast without another word, following the flow of Billowskeep River without looking back—as if the two mercenaries were no longer relevant to him. His vines finally released Cerra, and she hastily got back to her feet, glaring at the back of the Nulwynn’s head as he departed. It appeared that she wanted to launch an attack, but was hesitating; meanwhile, Colvin moved cautiously away from the riverbank to retrieve his confiscated battleaxe, slinking with a surprising level of stealth for his large size.

“We can’t just let him walk away,” Colvin whispered to Cerra, the faintest trace of a growl in his voice as he began wringing river water out of his fur. “He’s our only lead on Vorynth. Geist’d have our heads if he found out we just let him go.”

“And how exactly do you propose we stop him?” Cerra hissed back. “He’s some kind of psychic, so who knows what else he can do? If we charge in there without thinking it through, he’ll rip us apart.”

Colvin nodded, watching Mirosaer take his leave. “Then we need a plan.”

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— End of chapter —