The Etra Anthology

176th of Gnielm, 291 EA

Peyr Myarsa

“My axe stays sharp,” Ynze drawled boisterously from his seated rest. It was true, his axe had been nothing but sharp since it had been passed to him. He had not yet had cause to dull it, and so it did not yet need honing, though he had fussed over it meticulously to banish any traces of rust from it’s face.

“There is never enough you can do to prepare,” Lauten spoke without reservation from Ynze’s side. She had her knee ground into the dirt of the swamp, dirtying her robe as pressure exerted back on itself. By her guiding hands an axe that had been passed to her long years ago took careful strokes across whetstones intercrossed to form a groove perfectly fitted to the edge. “Not outside the city walls, not when you have the lives of holy others in your care.”

“Right, of course.” He mumbled his response, making no move but wanting to sound as though he knew more than he did. In truth he was glad that it was Lauten he had been paired with for this, his first pilgrimage as a steward. She had not been one of his trainers, and held none of the whiphanded airs of superiority that they took with him, but he had always respected her for her craft. It was said that in her possession the ceremonial axe had abjured the most swamp demons it ever had.

They had found the dry patch together, rare enough, large enough to support the procession. Together they had filed onto the raised ground, set their tents. Ynze knew his well enough, had studied everything there was to know about it as soon as it had been issued, but still he fumbled with the clasps. And now, as so many of those pious citizens slept, he and Lauten were the only ones left awake. Guarding.

It was late into the night when the swamp began to snarl. Ynze started up in a tense jolt, quick as light, but Lauten put their arm up in front to slow him. She motioned wordlessly to pause as the growling was joined by a rustling of bushes from all around, and then pointed with two fingers to the opposite end of the camp across the sleeping bodies of the conservators they were sworn to protect. Ynze nodded, and began a nimble creep across to take his position. The two stewards circled their charges, eyeing out into the wild tract of the swamp.

Before Ynze could register what was happening, it was charging out of the brush straight for Lauten, a crocodile made monstrous and distended. The creature had been taken by moss, with vines growing in and through and back out of its body in unnatural growth. Its charge was more slithering limp than dash as its back legs had been fully overtaken by woody roots erupting from between scales, but even still it crossed the distance in an instant.

Ynze dashed over as fast as his legs would carry him, all around him the cries of those conservators awoken into a nightmare sounding off, as Lauten was knocked to the ground. The creature continued it’s slither over top of her, crushing down into the clod. She levied the haft of her axe up in a feat of pure strength, hefting the creature’s snapping jaws to angle up and away from her body.

All of his many years of training left Ynze only with the feeling of his own heartbeat pounding through his palms into the haft of his axe. He heard his own bellow as though from an outsider, the pristine head of his battleaxe slicing down through the air through the vines through the scales through the fleshy neck and finally crunching through the bones of the mirebound horror.

Ynze felt the force of every blow he had ever taken in training all concentrated into his ribs as the creature’s tail slammed into him knocking him to the side. It had reared up in pain, arched violently, giving Lauten just enough of an opening to roll her body over once and pivot the edge of her weapon to face up into the creature’s soft neck as it came toppling back down.

Blood mixed into the creature’s roar, gurgling out. It spasmed and writhed, drawing back with Lauten’s axe still buried inside of it. It’s retreat back into the bushes was stunted, the florid tumors that had been holding it together wriggling away and down into the muck. It was left twitching, with large chunks of it’s body left by the cavity of a removed parasite.

Ynze laid on the ground, shaking, trying to pull himself back together one sense at a time. He could see people crowding around him, could hear the concern and gratitude and admiration in their voices. He could sense his breath, working to move it from heavy jolting to a more steady pace. He could feel his knuckles, gripped white against his axe, and he released their pressure ever so slightly as to no longer be hurting himself.

“Ynze,” Lauten pushed through the crowd. “Ynze, are you with us?”

“I-” His mouth felt so parched, “I am. I need to borrow your whetstone.”