Cyrus hid amidst the branches of a solbirch, and studied the camp in the distance. The followers of Dilthane sat around small fires, roasting pigs over the coals. Their laughter filled the forest, frightening away the smaller creatures of the night.
Along the edge of the camp, a cloth pavilion was raised, large enough to house a small table, and a few chairs, along with a cot. The dark shadow of the stonesworn's armor passed behind the flaps, followed by one of the knights.
Their horses were tethered to a small tree outside, far away from the slumbering form of the urghast, whose large body was bound by chains. Its large ears twitched as the nearby villagers shuffled closer to one another, their dirt-stained skin peeking through their clothes.
One of the robed men threw a burlap sack at their feet. Hard and moldy rolls spilled into the dirt, but the villagers scrambled for them anyway, snatching them into their arms. The urghast let out a low growl, and peered through a half-closed eye, quieting the commotion.
'They're not going to last long,' Cyrus thought. He dropped from the thick branches, and landed softly on the tips of his toes. The leaves crinkled beneath his feet as he crept closer to the camp, while keeping to the shadows of the trunks and bushes.
When he got close enough to make out the faces of the followers, he dipped behind a pile of stones. The crackling flames muffled his footsteps as he peeked around the edge. The camp was less than a hundred meters away, and his mouth watered at the seared pigs meat.
As he scanned the camp, the pavilion's flaps were brushed to the side, and one of the knights stepped out. Cyrus decked back, his heart pounding in his chest. He pressed his back into the rocks, and sunk to the ground, gripping the hilt of his sword.
He jumped as a shrill cry rang through the forest. Holding his breath, he poked his head out again. The knight was yanking a young woman away from the other villagers. She kicked and screamed, beating at his hand and legs.
A young man in the group yelled for him to stop, his face red as he pleaded for the knight to take him instead. It took four other men to hold him back, tears glistening on their cheeks. The knight glared at them, then brought his boot down on the woman's ankle with a sickening crunch. She fell to the ground with a whimper, her arms falling limp as he dragged her closer to the urghast.
The beast eyed the woman with saliva dripping from its fangs. The chains holding it clinked against one another as it leaned forward, and sniffed the air. Overhead, the branches of the solbirch trees swayed, dropping a veil of leaves.
'I can't waste any more time,' Cyrus thought, gritting his teeth. He dug his fingers into the dirt, releasing his consciousness into the slumbering forest.
A low rumble filled the air as the trees began to shake, awakening to his call. A hush fell over the camp as the knight and followers stopped to glance around. They murmured to one another, and drew their swords, blades reflecting the orange flames.
Cyrus focused his attention on a particular solbirch, which towered over the pavilion. His body tingled as the aether seeped from his chest, and flooded into the tree. As the flaps blew open, the solbirch split down the middle with a loud crack, revealing a gaping hole filled with darkness.
The one who emerged from the pavilion was the second knight. His sword was halfway free of its sheath when a clawed branch shot out of the shadowy alcove, and pierced through his chest, blood dripping from the end.
For a second, everyone was frozen, then the knight let out a shout as the branch snapped back into the hole, disappearing with him still skewered on the end. As the hole melded shut, his cries were cut off, leaving the camp reeling in confusion.
Cyrus used this moment to rush forward, flooding his aether into the remainder of the trees. The ground shook beneath his feet, then ruptured as hundreds of roots tore through, showering the camp with dirt and glowing embers.
Chaos ensued as the robed men staggered back, wildly swinging their swords. The roots wrapped around their legs and torsos, dragging them into the dirt as they clawed at whatever they could grab.
Across the clearing, the knight shoved the woman back, and drew his sword. He swung at the roots, cutting them in two, while muttering a string of curses. The woman scrambled back to the villagers, falling into the arms of the young man.
As they embraced, Cyrus unsheathed his dagger, and darted along the edge of the camp. He ducked behind a bush as one of the followers stumbled past, his robes engulfed in flames. His screams were soon cut off as a root sprung from the ground, and wrapped around the man's throat, and crushed it.
As he collapsed to the ground, Cyrus rushed to the villagers, and slid into their midst with a finger to his lips. They stared at him with wide sunken eyes, their cracked lips shivering in the cold. With a flick of his wrist, Cyrus severed the ropes binding them, and threw them away.
"Get up!" Cyrus hissed. "We need to leave! Now!"
He grabbed an older woman, and hauled her to her feet, spurring the rest of the group into action. Whirling around, Cyrus guided them to the forest, while keeping an eye on the camp.
Across the clearing, the pavilion went up in flames, its beams cracking beneath the heat. From its depths, the stonesworn emerged, cloaked in fire. His pale face hardened as he studied the camp, then turned to look at Cyrus. His blue eyes were cold, and unwavering.
Cyrus cursed beneath his breath as a shiver ran down his spine. He threw out his hand, and a column of writhing roots tore free from the dirt, only to stop inches from the man as they turned to stone. With a crack, they fell away, shattering as they hit ground.
"Gods above…" Cyrus said, stumbling back. Whirling around, he staggered into the forest, following the broken trail left behind by the villagers.
A low roar rumbled through the forest, accompanied by the snap of chains breaking. Cyrus risked a glance back. The stonesworn held his hand over the iron links, turning them to stone one by one.
Clenching his fists, Cyrus summoned the remainder of his strength. His feet pounded against the ground. Twigs and branches clawed at his cloak. The trees whipped past. Ahead, a few of the villagers tripped over loose rocks, and mounds of dirt. They gasped for breath, their bodies ripe with sweat and grime.
The others did their best to help them along, but the effort slowed the group. Cyrus's chest tightened as he searched the forest for a way out. The tall trees provided little more than brief coverage, and nothing else.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed ahead, passing a few of the villagers. Soon, he caught up to an older man, whose frail body heaved with each step.
"Where are you taking us?" he asked.
"I- I don't know," Cyrus said. He studied the surroundings. "Is there anywhere we could go? A place where the Dilthane wouldn't get us?"
As he asked, the group burst out of the trees, onto a rocky clearing overlooking a deep crevice. Cyrus skidded to a stop, cursing his luck. A thrashing river surged past the rocks far below, and the opposite side sat far out of reach.
The villagers stared at the crevice, their faces falling, and a few even dropped to their knees. Wails of panic rose from the group as they paced between the stones. A young man in the group whirled towards Cyrus, and grabbed him by the shirt.
"You! Why have you brought us here? What will we do now, when the Dilthane catch us again?"
"Enough, Haldin," The old man said, pulling the young man off Cyrus. "We were going to die back there anyway. At least this way we have a fighting chance. A way to get back at those monsters for taking our friends and family. A way to avenge their deaths!"
A few of the men clenched their fists, and straightened their backs. Yet their resolve faded the moment a thunderous roar echoed through the jungle.