Vesperwind: Duskwood

The border of Duskwood swallows us whole.

One moment we're in the rocky hills at the edge of Stranglethorn, and the next the trees close in overhead like a lid on a coffin. The light changes immediately-not gradually, but all at once, as if we've stepped through a curtain. What sun remains filters down in thin, sickly shafts that barely illuminate the path ahead. The air smells of wet earth and something else, something metallic and wrong.

I keep one hand on Yak's harness. He snorts uneasily, ears flattening, and I don't blame him. Even he has stopped grazing.

"We stay quiet," Savadra whispers, though her voice seems to carry farther than it should in this place. "No unnecessary magic. No loud noises. The things that hunt here are drawn to sound."

Ember nods, tucking Charmastraz into a leather satchel at her hip. The whelp protests with a small chirp, then goes still, as if sensing the danger too.

We move in a tight group, weapons loose in sheaths, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. The road here is old cobblestone, cracked and overgrown, winding through hills that rise and fall like the chest of a sleeping giant. Every so often I catch movement in the corner of my eye-shapes that vanish when I turn my head, whispers that might be wind or might be something hungrier.

"Alliance patrols use the main road," Fulmist says quietly, consulting with Savadra at the front. "But there's an intersection ahead where they keep a small outpost. Three men, usually. Sometimes fewer if they're short-handed."

"Can we go around?" I ask.

"Not without losing half a day in these woods," the kaldorei says, adjusting that fancy violet hat like she's preparing for a dinner party rather than sneaking past enemy soldiers. "And I'd rather not spend any more time in Duskwood than necessary."

Savadra considers this, then nods. "Fulmist. Reikilotus. You two are the most...diplomatically aligned with Alliance sensibilities. Can you create a distraction?"

The Pandaren monk rolls her shoulders, her thick fur rippling. "I can be very distracting."

"Just keep them occupied," Savadra says. "Long enough for the rest of us to slip past in the tree line. We'll regroup at the old watchtower ruins, half a mile north."

Fulmist straightens her hat and produces a flask from somewhere inside her coat. "Leave it to us. Come, Reiki. Let's go make friends."

The two of them stride ahead, moving with a casual confidence that looks almost genuine. The rest of us melt into the woods, guiding Yak off the road and into the undergrowth. The yak's hooves crunch on dead leaves, each step sounding like thunder to my ears. I wince, but there's nothing for it-we can't exactly carry him.

From the tree line, I watch Fulmist and Reiki approach the intersection. The outpost is exactly as described: a small clearing with a fire pit, three human soldiers in blue and gold tabards standing around it, warming their hands. One has a crossbow leaning against a supply crate.

Another is peeling an apple with a knife.

Fulmist raises her voice in greeting, something about being lost on the way to Darkshire, and the soldiers turn. Reiki laughs at something she says, that big booming laugh that sounds so genuine, and I see the tension leave the soldiers' shoulders. One of them even smiles.

"Now," Savadra breathes.

We move. Single file, hugging the trees, staying low. Aeon goes first, then Ember and Jalid, then Fazzilwitz with his pack of toys and tools, then Artivee. I guide Yak, one hand on his harness, whispering encouragement. He moves well, picking his way through the underbrush with surprising grace for something so large. Tillie brings up the rear, her ears flat against her skull, eyes darting to every shadow.

I can still hear Fulmist's voice, something about needing directions to the nearest inn, and Reiki's responding chuckle. The soldiers are engaged now, one of them pointing down the road with his apple knife, another offering a sip from his own flask.

We pass behind them, no more than thirty yards away. Close enough to smell the woodsmoke. Close enough to see the embroidery on their tabards.

Then Yak snorts.

It's not loud-not really-but in the silence of the woods, it might as well be a trumpet. I freeze, heart hammering. One of the soldiers half-turns, brow furrowing, but Fulmist is already there, gesturing broadly at the tree line, claiming she saw a deer, a big one, probably worth tracking. The soldier's attention shifts, and we keep moving, faster now, until the outpost disappears behind a bend in the road.

We reach the watchtower ruins-a crumbling stone structure overtaken by vines-and wait in the shadows. Ten minutes. Twenty. My anxiety builds with every passing moment, imagining Fulmist and Reiki in chains, or worse.

Then I hear laughter.

They emerge from the woods like they've just left a tavern, Fulmist with her arm around Reiki's shoulders, both of them grinning.

"Lovely people," Fulmist announces. "Absolutely lovely. Gave us apples."

"You got apples? Nothing more fun than apples!" Fazzilwitz says, a grin on his face.

"Gave them back, of course," Reiki says, patting her stomach. "After we ate them."

Savadra exhales, something like relief crossing her features. "Good work. Let's move."

The road north continues, winding through hills that grow steeper and more treacherous as we go. The sun, what little we can see of it, begins to sink toward the horizon, and the shadows of Duskwood lengthen into something almost physical, reaching across the path like grasping fingers.

"We need to find a place to camp," Aeon says, studying the sky. "Traveling these woods at night would be-"

"Suicidal," Fulmist finishes, looking around, eyes darting about.

But before we can search for shelter, the trees thin and the road opens onto a wider clearing.

Beyond it, visible against the darkening sky, are the borders of Darkshire.

The town hunches there like a wounded animal, lanterns burning in windows that seem too few, too dim. Even from here I can see the patrols on the fence line, the gleam of steel in the fading light. The main road runs straight through town, and that road is busy-farmers hurrying home before dark, guards in pairs, a wagon loaded with what looks like coffins.

"I don’t think we can go in there," I say, stating the obvious. "Even with Fulmist's charm!"

"Agreed," Savadra says. "We need another way around."

"I'll scout," Fulmist volunteers, already adjusting her hat. "There's bound to be a game trail or something through the woods. Something wide enough for our bovine friend."

She disappears into the trees before anyone can object. We wait, the darkness deepening around us, every rustle of leaves making me twitch. Somewhere in the woods behind us, something howls-a sound too deep, too hungry to be any normal wolf.

"Maybe we should keep moving," Tillie suggests, her voice small.

"And get lost?" Ember shakes her head. "We need to know where we're going."

It's nearly full dark when Fulmist returns, appearing so suddenly that Savadra nearly draws her sword. "Found something," she says, breathless for the first time since I've known her. "Old logging road, overgrown but passable. Leads around the east side of town, comes out north of the cemetery."

"Cemetery?" I repeat, the unease in my voice apparent.

"Duskwood has many dead," Fulmist says simply. "Few of them stay buried. But the road is clear enough, and I saw no patrols."

It's the best option we have. We follow Fulmist into the woods, away from the road, away from the distant lights of Darkshire. The logging trail is narrow, choked with brush, and Yak has to squeeze through in places, his sides scraping against the trees. But he trusts me, or he's too tired to protest, and we keep moving.

The woods here are worse than before. The trees are older, twisted into shapes that seem almost deliberate, almost malicious. I see things moving between them-pale shapes that might be mist, might be something else. Once, I catch the gleam of eyes at the level of my own, watching from the darkness, and when I blink they're gone.

"Don't look," Tillie whispers beside me. "Some things here, if you look at them, they know. They come."

I keep my eyes on Yak's back, on the sway of his harness, on the path ahead. I don't look. But I can feel them watching, feel the weight of attention from shadows that have nothing to do with the absence of light.

The undead find us near the cemetery.

They're not the slow, shambling kind from stories- these things move fast, lurching from behind trees with hands like claws, jaws working soundlessly. Savadra meets the first with her sword, the blade singing as it cuts through rotted flesh. Aeon calls fire, bright and terrible in the darkness, and the things shriek as they burn.

“No magic,” Savadra growls, with a hint of kindness in her voice, looking at Aeon. “The patrols might see us. Keep moving!”

We run, or try to. Yak can only move so fast, and I stay with him, refusing to leave his side.

Tillie runs beside me, her small form surprisingly quick, and behind us I hear the others fighting, the clash of steel and the crack of magic.

The logging road ends at a ridge, a steep drop into a valley below. The others are already scrambling down, finding handholds in the rock, but Yak stops at the edge, snorting, refusing.

"It's too far," I realize, my heart sinking. "He'll break his legs. He'll-"

"I can help." Tillie steps forward, her hands already moving in the patterns of a spell. "Slow fall. I've done it on rocks, on supplies, on... well, on me, once, when I fell out of a tree."

"It’ll work on something his size?"

She grins, sharp and fierce. "Only one way to find out."

The magic gathers around her hands, silver and soft as moonlight. She presses them to Yak's flank, and I feel the spell settle over him like a blanket, like a promise. "Go on," she tells him, patting his neck. "Step off. Trust me."

Yak looks at me. I nod, hoping I'm right.

He steps.

For a moment he falls, and my heart stops. Then the magic catches, and he slows, drifting down like a leaf on a breeze, his legs cycling in the air, his eyes wide but calm. He lands in the valley below with a soft thump, shakes himself, and immediately begins grazing on the grass there.

Tillie whoops, a sound of pure triumph, and I could kiss her.

We scramble down after him, the others following, and regroup in the valley. Behind us, the ridge blocks the sight of Duskwood, though I can still hear the distant sounds of the undead, the howling of things that hunt in the dark.

"We're clear," Savadra says, checking her sword, cleaning something dark from the blade. "For now."

The valley opens onto a wider road, better kept than the logging trail, heading north and east. In the distance, barely visible against the star-pricked sky, I can see the shape of mountains- the Deadwind Pass, and beyond it, Karazhan.

"We should camp here," Aeon says, and for once no one argues. "We’re close, but better to arrive when we can see something."

I sit with Yak, my back against his warm flank, and watch the others set watches, build a small fire shielded by rocks. The night is cold here, colder than Stranglethorn ever was, and I pull my thin jacket tighter.

Duskwood is behind us. But I can still feel it, that wrongness, that sense of being watched. I wonder if it will ever really let us go.

"Almost there," I whisper to Yak, and he chews his cud, unbothered, trusting me to keep the monsters away.

I hope we’re enough.

(To be continued...)