The Alpace Race

Half of the carts were burned, destroyed, or rendered unusable.

After sacrificing so much, we reached this point with almost the entire alpaca herd.

Yet we hit an insurmountable wall.

As the eldest son in my family, I always tried to be the pillar of my town; they all depended on my willingness to do the work. I didn’t have the luxury of showing weakness, but looking at the desperate faces of the elderly folk who composed the caravan was disheartening.

Our group was composed of some old men and women from town, the alpacas, one homeless traveler, and me, as the head of one of the merchant families. We had no chance.

This region of the Sierra was foggy at this time of year. The chill, the steep roads, the dry air: I was born and raised here, and I’d been crossing this valley on my own since I was eight. However, the challenge ahead was unbeatable.

One of the grannies pulled my poncho; her husband’s wouldn’t last long.

No matter how much effort I put in, I was just a peasant. Even worse, I was only a single-digit: with all my physical training, I only reached level 3. I had many knives at my disposal, but the party of Heroes up ahead was probably around level 20 or higher.

From their point, nobody could escape their grasp. They would attack any villager within their reach, as they had been doing in Novo Sermus region since the Reconquest started. I felt disgusted at the mere idea of sharing blood with such despicable monsters.

"We stop here, Obaga. Let me tend to his wounds. I’m sure that in two or three days the pass will be clear and then we…"

A big yawn interrupted me.

Our guest has just woken up.

She wore an old, ragged poncho when she joined the caravan, around ten kilometers back. I accepted her payment only because she was a woman; otherwise, I would have just left her on the road. In any case, she spent her time sleeping.

"When will they leave? This fellow here won’t last that much. And that’s in the event those guys leave. You know that with this fog, they will camp here for days, right?"

We needed the money, but her arrogant attitude wasn’t tolerable in a crisis like this. More villagers were startled, and Obaga was on the verge of tears. This entire journey to sell the ponchos has been a total disaster.

I was mad at the traveler, but deep inside I knew this was my fault. What was the point in discussing with this woman when I had no idea what to do?

She smiled at my desperate face…

…and she drew two machetes from her poncho.

"Boy, this is your lucky day."

* * *

I walked behind the woman all the way until the Heroes’ camp, up on a hill that controlled the valley. Instead of my knives, I only had a stick to defend myself. The traveler had her machetes sheathed again. I wasn’t sure if her idea would work, but something in the woman made me trust her.

The party of Heroes looked from afar. At first, they were wary, but their expressions relaxed when they realized it was just the two of us. The group consisted of four Targeteers, and with my good sight, I noticed one Priest among them. However, a villager like me couldn't tell what their blood boons were.

A tall, well-equipped Targeteer stood before them. Nobody said anything, as if measuring the one in front. This is how all of them started. Those "Heroes" looked at you, and when they confirmed that their victory was guaranteed, they stripped you of everything.

He spoke with the hoarse voice of an alcoholic:

"Well, guys, we have trespassers here, huh? But everyone is welcome to the land of Toran. Everyone who pays the price, of course. No, no, no need to be scared. We can solve this reasonably. You can keep your undies and such. We don’t need dirty ponchos. Yet, you, woman…"

I could feel the tension in my legs; a chill ran down my spine. I thought of the five men in front of us and how they could kill us in one strike. I felt anxious about my brothers and sisters way back home. I won't fulfill my promise to our dead parents.

Still, the woman's presence at my left was strong. So strong that even the Heroes’ party could tell. She kept her cool. The tall Targeteer changed his expression from confidence to surprise, and soon enough, to terror.

The woman smiled and threw her poncho.

Her now visible blue uniform was ragged too, but it was clear she wasn’t just a traveler. This was the uniform of the Second Raid Army: she was one of the liberators, part of the so-called “Heroes”.

"Well, guys, we have some scumbag here! But everyone is welcome to the land of Toran, isn’t it? Everyone except you!"

She raised her arms, as if presenting a magic show. Under her signal, around the mountains, the Heroes could see dozens and dozens of soldiers wearing ponchos. They were surrounded.

"No! No! No need to be scared! My lord is merciful. You thought you were safe in this faraway valley. But you were WRONG!"

I didn’t expect her flashy arm movements. Still, it felt reassuring to see her enjoying the moment. I even let out a tiny smile.

"By the authority of Toran, we command you to report back to your Raid Leader! And yes, of course, you’ll let us pass, you vile droppers."

The five Heroes were hopeless. From the kings of the valley, they fell back to their original positions as mere footmen. With a few gestures, the woman commanded them to leave to the road back north. 

The pressure from the surrounding poncho soldiers was too strong to oppose, so they retreated tp the main road. The plan was going smoothly until she talked again.

"Oh, oh, oh! Leaving already? Aren’t you forgetting something?"

She pointed at their armors and gave me a look. At that moment, I understood I was the pack mule.

The group started stripping when another Targeteer noticed something weird in me.

"You, your clothes are different, almost as if…"

They looked at each other: they found out he was a commoner. It was the Priest who gave the war cry:

"She’s a dropper! This is a damn scam, and those above are just more peasants! Kill these bastards!"

Anxiety oppressed my chest.

We weren’t going to reach the next town.

This was the end of all the people who believed me.

The tallest Targeteer was already upon us, supported by the other three, each with a sword and a shield in each hand.

She sighed.

With one hand, she pushed me back, and with the other, she drew one machete. But instead of blocking the Targeteer's upcoming sword slash, she just evaded it with a flowing movement.

And then she threw the machete at the Priest at the back, striking his chest.

"Obaga, let’s go!"

Her scream echoed in the entire valley, followed by a march of alpacas wearing ponchos. The caravan descended upon them with unusual speed, thanks to the downward slope, in front of the shocked looks of the Heroes’ party.

While those men were trying to help the Priest, who seemed to be the real leader of the party, the woman mounted one of the alpacas with me. Kicking up dust, we rode the flock. All the elderly folks were riding alpacas already, only with one cart for Obaga's husband.

Before the enemy party could react, we had already reached the only road that could lead outside the valley. After a few minutes, the fog dissipated. We arrived at a plain abundant in small pastures: Sara Qora, the next town, was close.

"You…you save us, you, eh, what’s your name?"

My excitement didn’t let me talk properly. I was about to cry with happiness.

"Call me Alicia, or whatever. Do you have a knife to spare? I don’t think I’ll get back that one."

She looked kind of sad at the empty sheath.

"Take all of them, take my poncho, for Fisantemo’s sake, take one alpaca for what I care! No matter what you need, you have my eternal gratitude and…"

She yawned at me again.

"Oh boy, you are really talkative for a villager. If you are so eager to help me, as I told your wrinkled friends, could you tell me where I can find a warlock? You know, the ones that summon demons."

I felt uneasy at the question; it was no idle chatter.

"What would someone want with a warlock?"

Alicia smiled at me.

"The same thing as you: get back home."

I laughed hard.