Flame and Snow

Chapter 5: Akton

Chapter 5: Akton

When he woke, curled in on himself in the hollow of the stump, he felt hunger first. Akton blinked, the scent of the air warm enough to indicate he’d slept well into the morning. It was hunger and the pain that got him up, climbing down the stump and into the forest. He could scent no danger so he shifted, thinking he’d better have a look at his wounds.

The stitches had held all night, not bad. He probably should have been more thankful toward the attractive ally who’d helped so much. Akton could already see the injuries healing well and was glad for once for being part weasel—whatever world magicks gave him the ability to shift also seemed to enhance his ability to take a beating. The state of the bruises along his arms and sides were already a few days further along than what he’d seen on other people.

That done, he ignored his rumbling belly enough to take a quick scout around his tiny encampment, finding nothing problematic. It was a relief to no longer be hunted. He settled down on a log with some of his food to take a look through the packs he’d taken from his pursuers. The night before his ally hadn’t cared for any, but Akton figured he’d go through and find anything he wanted, then sell the rest. Extra crowns never went amiss.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he muttered as he opened the first pack, then took another bite of hard bread and chewed.

Mostly he found typical items, although when he located a spare set of throwing knives he kicked himself for not having taken the weapons from the corpses the night before. Sure, he’d been exhausted and injured, but having his pick of additional arms sounded good about now. He still knew so little about his pursuers he half expected more to be after him, somehow aware of what he’d done.

Akton took the knives. He took whatever salvageable food rations there were, too, and a pair of socks that looked like they fit. His home was the mountains; it was hard to give up the knowledge that you could always use another pair of socks.

He took whatever spells they had left, bottled potions, the rest dry and in packets. They were unlabeled, but he figured when he stopped back in the town to sell the extra bedrolls and such he could ask his ally about them. Akton seemed to remember him being an apothecary. He had no idea about his name, although he kind of wished now he’d kissed him so he could blame it on the blood loss later. He hadn’t been close to anyone in a long time now and the fact that someone had stepped in and fought with him…

No, Akton wouldn’t let himself get caught up in feeling any kind of bond. He had to drastically change the way he moved through the world now—at least until he could confirm he was no longer being hunted.

“The hell are you?” he asked the last pack, a strange-looking one, absent of bed roll or canteen. Part of him hoped it was full of potions—he could probably sell that many at a good price—but when he opened it and saw a lumpy cloth filling it, squashed roll of parchment next to it, he didn’t have a good feeling.

He read the parchment first, eyes darting over the script faster with each word. His full belly felt sick, and pain stabbed through his side.

Assigned area from Sluthrin Bridge to West Oryag Path to towns Brishton and Threllig, the parchment read. Recruit all shifters and as many able-bodied adults as possible by whatever creative means. Do not allow shifters to decline. If completely unwilling, harvest furs. Return by harvest moon.

Akton reread the directive until the words blurred together, then set it aside. He felt suddenly vulnerable and spent a good amount of time just sitting, letting his mind go numb to everything but the sound and smells of the forest around him. Nothing abnormal. These had to have been the only people after him. He was safe.

He’d just come down the mountain pass path the day before the flames engulfed Eizyn. He’d come with a list from his sister and enough to bargain with. He’d come to do business, not to get recruited or to be hunted down. And Akton felt no relief that his home had been spared by being out of range of this directive—who knew when they were next?

When his mind finally calmed again and the tension released from his body, he braced himself to see what was wrapped in the cloth. It was soft and heavy when he pulled it from the pack, and deep in his gut he already knew what he’d find.

Akton unwrapped it anyway.

Furs. Akton counted eleven of them, all warm to the touch as though they were still on the bodies they came from. He swallowed and looked at each one—he felt he had to—as they had all certainly come from a shifter. This could have been him, had his ally not stepped in. This would have been him. Another shifter fur sandwiched between a few rabbits. He rolled up the skins and shoved everything inside the pack.

The pain and the nausea overtook him and he stumbled a few trees away to retch, but he managed to keep his meal down. Akton decided he needed more rest, to heal a bit more, to give his mind a break. He shifted and returned to his warm little hollow in the tree before tucking his tail over his nose and closing his eyes to the world.