Mary stood next to her horse, head between her legs, retching violently. Her face was drained of all colour. Her hair carried the story: twigs, crushed acorns, and one snail clinging on for dear life.

  Needless to say, she was not accustomed to Reralt’s method of travel—namely, “a straight line is the best line,” path or no path.

  In this case: no path.

  It had been six relentless hours. They’d waded through rivers, slalomed between trees, and charged over hills like deranged geography didn’t exist.

  Reralt, of course, looked as if he’d just stepped out of a painting. Not a hair out of place. He sat serenely on his horse, gazing down at Mary with mild confusion.

  “Ehh… what’s wrong?” he asked, as if nothing could possibly be wrong.

  “I need a breath,” she managed, wiping the near-death expression off her face.

  “Food? Drink?” Reralt asked.

  She collapsed onto a rock at the forest’s edge. Technically, they had halted, though in truth she had halted. It had taken Reralt five minutes to notice she was missing, and another five to backtrack.

  “I don’t pack food or drink,” he explained proudly. “I live off the land. Water, deer, the occasional mushroom—though they haven’t tasted quite the same lately.”

  “Shall we hunt?” he added, addressing the Void rather than Mary.

  The Void narrowed her eyes at Mary with something close to disgust. Weakling. Then she turned to Reralt with wide, innocent eyes. Hunt? Freck yeah.

  Mary nodded—not because she was hungry, but because sitting not-on-a-horse sounded like the greatest idea anyone had ever had. Besides, it might wash the taste of flies, leaves, and one particularly aggressive bluebird out of her mouth.

  She pulled out a flask and took a swig of wine, then passed it to Reralt. He hummed approvingly and reached for his bow—a ridiculously ornate thing laced with golden filigree and clearly not meant for actual use.

  “What’s that?” Mary asked, squinting.

  “My bow,” Reralt said, plucking the string like a bass.

  Suddenly, Mary remembered Narro’s stories. More specifically, the scar an arrow had left in his leg.

  Always duck when Reralt shoots.

  His words echoed ominously in her skull.

  “I believe I saw a rabbit… over there,” she said, pointing as far from herself as possible.

  Reralt and the Void looked at each other, vibrating with anticipation, and skulked off like a two-headed predator.

  ***

  Mary felt the wind of the arrow as it whooshed past her ear.

  “What the—?” she began, just as a second arrow shattered on the rock beneath her.

  She yelped and ducked behind it, heart hammering in her chest. For a split second, she was both terrified… and mildly impressed. He can shoot that far?

  Silence followed. Tense. She crouched lower, straining her ears for any sign of another incoming projectile. Nothing. Carefully—very carefully—she peeked above the rock.

  There, belly-down in the grass like two conspirators in a children’s war game, were Reralt and the Void. They were slowly crawling toward a rabbit.

  The sight was almost too much: a grown man and his half-feral cat creeping through the brush like amateur spies, eyes locked on a bunny nibbling innocently at a leaf.

  When they got close enough, Reralt picked up the Void, whispered something encouraging to her, and threw her at the rabbit.

  She flew with surprising grace, claws outstretched, and latched onto the rabbit with a victorious screech. There was a blur of fur, a squeal—and then silence.

  The rabbit lay still. The Void purred like a lawnmower. Reralt beamed.

  “Good girl,” he said, and stuck an arrow into the already-dead rabbit—just for good measure.

  Mary shook her head. Up to this point she’d always thought Narro had a sort of creative freedom describing his endeavours with Reralt; now she guessed he downplayed them to stay believable.

  ***

  Reralt and the Void, both beaming with pride, returned to the small campfire Mary had built. They held up the rabbit like a trophy, clearly expecting awe and applause.

  “Wow,” Mary said. “That’s a big one. Nice and fat.”

  She figured it was better not to question the techniques involved in its acquisition.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  She took the rabbit, skinned it cleanly, and set it over the fire. The smell of roasting meat mingled with pine and damp grass. Mary sighed. The warmth helped, but she knew she had to say something. And she had no idea how Reralt would react.

  “Reralt?” she began, watching his face closely with each word. “I need you to promise me something.”

  Reralt looked up, scratching the Void behind the ears and taking a swig from the wine flask. “Of course. If it’s not too hard.”

  “Don’t kill the wise man.”

  Reralt blinked. “Why would I kill the wise man?”

  A pause. Then something clicked. “Is he evil?”

  Mary hesitated. “He’s a sort of… well… maybe a kind of… evil sorcerer.”

  She’d once thought Narro exaggerated when he talked about Reralt’s hero tickles. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Reralt, taut as a crossbow spring, leapt to his feet. In a single dramatic motion, he unsheathed his sword and struck a gallant pose. Then, realising the pose was missing something, he scooped up the Void and balanced her on his bicep. She purred, approvingly.

  “Evil sorcerers shall be vanquished!” he declared, eyes alight with purpose.

  Then he pulled out his little notebook, flipping through the pages with intense focus. “Let’s see… ‘Evil sorcerers to be killed in the presence of Mary.’ Ah! Found it. I’ve got just the punchline.”

  Mary groaned inwardly. Of course he had a list.

  “Wait… don’t kill?” he asked, suddenly freezing mid page-turn. His eyes narrowed, gears visibly grinding in his brain. The Void stared at Mary, ears twitching with suspicion.

  “But… evil?” Reralt asked, uncertain now. He glanced at Mary. “Are you evil?”

  The Void crouched, ready to spring.

  “Evil is…” Mary flailed, “…not really a definition. More a matter of opinion?”

  Blank stare.

  “It’s about reference frames,” she tried. “The gods used to tell us what was good and evil. Now it’s… muddier.”

  “Gods are annoying,” Reralt declared. His sword gleamed in the firelight. “Reralt’s life is of Reralt.”

  Mary blinked. That was… surprisingly philosophical.

  “I don’t want the gods back,” he added. “Humans shouldn’t be playthings for higher powers.”

  She nodded. That was—again—almost insightful.

  “So they look up to me instead. I like that better. Less complicated.”

  And just like that, the moment passed.

  Mary returned to reality with a mental thud. This wasn’t working. He was one metaphor away from deciding she was evil and running her through.

  And, honestly… he wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

  “So,” Mary said, holding up the wineskin and giving it a shake so it sloshed invitingly, “you want to eat the juicy, succulent rabbit… and wash it down with wine?”

  Her voice was honey. Her smile, strained.

  I will not win by logic, she thought. Perhaps distraction is better.

  Reralt hesitated, visibly torn between heroic destiny and roasted meat.

  The Void trotted over, tail high in the air, not sparing Mary a glance. She strutted to the edge of the camp, found Mary’s sleeping blanket, turned around once, then casually squatted and peed on it.

  Mary watched in disappointed silence.

  Then turned back to Reralt.

  “Succulent,” she repeated.

  ***

  “Explain it to me again,” Reralt said, frowning like the concept had personally insulted him. “So I can’t kill the evil sorcerer… because he’s already dead?”

  “Yes,” Mary sighed. This was hour one of what she now recognised as a war of attrition—waged on her brain. Reralt had asked the same question at least twelve times, each time in a slightly different tone, as if tone was the problem.

  She was beginning to suspect his plan was to annoy her into permitting a murder.

  “Reralt, just give it up. Technically, you can’t kill him because he’s already dead. You can make him cease to exist, but to do that you’d have to destroy his… magic soul device.”

  Reralt nodded solemnly, which was never a good sign. With every explanation, Mary realised she gave something new away—feeding him bits of information in the na?ve hope that it would quench the silver-haired statue of blunt-force inquiry.

  Then Reralt pulled his horse to a sudden stop.

  Mary, not expecting it, rode straight into a branch, got smacked clean off her saddle, and landed face-first in the mud.

  Reralt didn’t notice. Or chose not to. Hard to tell.

  “Like a lich and his phylactery?” he asked over his shoulder.

  Mary lay motionless for a moment. Processing. Not the fall—the sentence.

  “…yes,” she finally said, wiping sludge from her face. “Exactly like that. How do you know what a phylactery is?”

  “Hah!” Reralt tossed his hair dramatically. “I went to college, you know.”

  Mary’s mud-stained, stunned face stared up at Reralt’s grandiose, gleaming torso.

  It must have been a sight.

  Reralt, of course, instantly mistook it for awe.

  He flexed. The torso shimmered. He winked.

  Mary closed her eyes. Not to blink. Just to temporarily exist in a world without Reralt in it.

  ***

  (tucked away in the saddlebags, addressed to Narro)

  Dear Narro,

  After travelling with Reralt for six hours, I owe you an apology.

  Apparently, you weren’t exaggerating the stories about what it’s like to travel with him.

  Next time I say I’m going to travel with Reralt, please—stop me.

  We’ve been doing what he calls a “fastest line run” to Kenneth.

  I can’t decide whether that means he can’t read a map or if this really is the “fastest way.”

  As you can probably imagine, I’m wrecked.

  I hope we can stop soon. Catch a breath.

  OH GODS, WE NEED TO CAMP SOON.

  Love,

  Mary