The Field of Thorn Pits

When Bruno used the phrase "a few kilometers south" to describe a scene taken from a fever dream, it turned out to be the most harmless lie imaginable. The familiar, menacing murmurs of the woodland gave way to a sickly calm that seemed to smother even the city's frantic symphony of life as it faded behind them. The air itself appeared to change as soon as they entered the area known as the Field of Thorn Pits. Each breath seemed like an invasion, a poison pouring into the lungs, and it became heavy, bearing a cloying smell that was a sickening combination of deliciously rotting fruit and the sharp taste of a chemical spill. This was a diseased part of the system, abandoned and allowed to fester; it was not a place of nature.

The ground itself was a dangerous tapestry, dotted with innumerable sharp gulfs and cracks, their depths cleverly concealed by a thin layer of rotting leaves and a dishonest coating of bright green moss. They resembled the bite marks of some enormous, invisible beast; they were not natural formations. The vegetation around them was the result of a poisonous imagination. The vines that dangled from the branches of the twisted trees looked like rusted coils of barbed wire, and the trunks were covered in tumorous burls. Lurid, metallic-hued, fleshy, slippery blossoms opened like mouths waiting for prey, then snapped shut with a loud thwip at the first sign of air movement. The scene was an attack on the very foundations of reason for a man whose biggest bodily danger had formerly been an impending deadline.

"Pay attention to your step!"

Nicolas was brought back to reality by Katrina's piercing whisper, which cut through his reverie. His eyes darted down to where she indicated, and he paused in mid-step. The tripwire for a secret trap was a slender, nearly invisible root that was creeping across their route, and he had been about to step straight on it. With its serrated leaves clashing like a steel bear trap, the carnivorous plant attached to the root clamped its maw shut a meter distant as he backed away. They did not acknowledge each other or offer words of gratitude. Both had come to terms with the harsh fact that cooperation was essential to survival in this area. Every action was a planned risk, and every quiet moment was a lead-up to the next danger.

When a huge, root-like tendril sprang from the ground and twisted around Nicolas' ankle with crushing intensity, they were traversing what seemed to be the densest, most dangerous area. A second vine swung out and caught Katrina by the waist before he could even scream. Confident that it had captured them, the hideous plant started to pull back, bringing them together like a puppeteer tugging on marionette lines. With a hideous, moaning creak, their bodies slammed together as the vine pulled them firmly together and raised them into the air.

Katrina fought the binding in vain as their feet lifted off the floor. With their faces inches apart now, she screamed at Nicolas, "Watch your hands!"

Nicolas forced a sarcastic, hurt smile as he struggled to release his arm from the vine's smothering hold. "You know, you're not nearly as weak as you appear."

Anger surged in Katrina's eyes. "You dare?"

Ribs were in danger of cracking as the vine's pressure increased. Katrina pushed hard and reached for one of the daggers at her belt. She inserted the tip into the middle knot that held them together with a flip of her wrist. Nicolas took advantage of the plant's apparent agony by throwing his weight backward, which increased the strain. At last, the injured tendril snapped. With a hard thud, the two fell the final few meters, falling in a heap on the harsh ground.

Nicolas forced himself to stand up, ignoring the startling pain in his back, and extended a hand to Katrina, who was still on the ground. With a harsh, bitter slap, she pushed his hand away and stood up for herself. Her look was one of complete, undiluted irritation rather than thanks.

She spoke in a frigid, clipped voice while wiping the muck from her cloak. "The hill is not far away. Just beyond the ridge is where you can find the fat man.

As they started up the slope, a weird silence fell. The eerie murmurs of the tainted forest had ceased to exist. There was no sigh of the wind, no buzzing of insects, no calling of birds. It was the profound, frightening calm of a predator holding its breath, not the silence of tranquility.

Katrina whispered, "This is wrong," as her hand automatically reached for her dagger's hilt.

In Nicolas's thoughts, a flash of red lightning erupted at that very moment. A single black-feathered arrow slicing through the air, bound to pierce Katrina's heart, was the image that burnt itself onto his vision, sharp and horrifying.

"Stand down!"

The silence was broken like a pane of glass by Nicolas's howl. Only action was allowed; there was no time for contemplation. He hurled himself forward, using all of his effort to push Katrina aside. A piercing thrum vibrated through the air as they fell together to the ground. Just where Katrina had been standing a moment earlier, a black arrow hummed with deadly determination and crashed into the tree trunk, sinking itself to the fletching.

A silhouette gradually separated from the trees' deeper shadows. He carried the lethal longbow casually in his hand and was dressed in his well-known hunting attire. Hector gazed at them with a calm, emotionless expression on his face. With a tone as icy and definitive as a gravestone, he said, "Nicolas." "I'm supposed to bring you back," the professor said.

As Nicolas stumbled to his feet, the sting of treachery surged in his throat. "Hector... Will you actually assist that man?

Hector did not respond. More damning and weighty than any confession was his silence. He just nocked a fresh arrow to his bowstring, taking aim with cool, methodical movements.

Katrina had already assumed a combat position. With her eyes fixed on their adversary, she muttered to Nicolas, "Forget it." "He is by himself. We are able to take him.

Katrina's words were abruptly interrupted by a mocking, uncanny familiar voice that floated down from behind them. "He might be by himself," Lucas said. However, he is not the only person who desires your death.

Together, they whirled about. Lucas and a dozen of his men were standing at the top of the slope, blocking their way. Their polished armor and drawn steel glinted in the last of the sunlight. Lucas and his mercenaries were behind them, while Hector was in front. They were confined.

Katrina and Nicolas came to a somber understanding. They were imprisoned in a cage of greed and treachery. Without a fight, there would be no way out. And death was the only way to avoid fighting in this desolate land.