Airie

“They passed here minutes ago,” Mirche said, examining the moss.

Dusan and the others nodded. They were six—enough to overcome the three trespassers once they’ve tracked them down. The strangers had been watching the village from afar when they’d been spotted by one of the women—who’d made the wise decision to act as if she hadn’t noticed them. The village was quite unprotected during the day, with the men working in the fields. A boy had been sent to notify them. Once they had returned, the party of six had been dispatched to catch up with the visitors and make sure they didn’t get away.

The intruders hadn’t done anything but look around, and that was the worrying part. Had they tried to snatch away a woman or a child, or steal food, that would have meant they were just opportunistic criminals who made rare appearances in these remote areas. Yet these three had only looked, and then left, heading in the direction of the sea, and that spelled trouble. They had to be scouts for a bigger party. Although a forest lay between the sea and the village, it wouldn’t stop the pirates once they knew where to go. A couple hundred villagers and their possessions were an attractive prize. A few villages along the coastline had been raided and destroyed like that in the past, their inhabitants killed or enslaved, so the threat was real. The spies had to be prevented from reaching whoever had sent them.

They moved on, quieter now. A shallow stream lay in their way, and they took their shoes off and pulled the breeches up to their knees to cross to the other side. The cold of it briefly reminded Dusan of a similar summer day, almost ten years ago, when he had met an airie in this very forest. He shuddered, banishing the memory. He had always been sensitive to cold since then, and the frostbite scars on his feet had never completely healed—a reminder that magical beings did exist, even if no one saw them anymore.

Borwin, walking first, peeked out from behind the thick old tree, then turned around, putting his finger to his lips.

Dusan glanced at Mirche who clearly struggled to keep the smug expression off his face. One of the youngest hunters, he had been endlessly praised for his tracking abilities. Dusan should have gotten used to it by now, yet each time his friend showcased his talent, Dusan still felt a little envious. They had learned tracking together, and while Dusan could do it fairly well, Mirche was brilliant. He had never returned from a hunt empty-handed.

Cautiously, Dusan peeked from behind the tree. Just steps away, three men sat on the ground, sharing a meal, oblivious to being watched. Their short curvy swords lay on the grass—the kind that pirates favored. It Dusan and the others acted quickly, the men would have no time to even grab their weapons. Two of them could be disposed of quickly, one could be spared for questioning, but in the end, he would have to follow his comrades into the afterlife. That was cruel but necessary, for the risk of leaving even one of them alive was too great.

Borwin gestured quietly at Dusan and the others, indicating who should attack from which side. They were farmers and hunters, not warriors, but when that role was occasionally imposed on them, they accepted it and tried to do their best.

Now, the task seemed pretty easy, with the intruders outnumbered two to one, and unaware of the impending attack. The advantage of surprise was crucial, and so they had to move fast. They nodded and exchanged looks and watched Borwin for a sign.

Then, the tree above them came to life.

There was no wind, and the other trees around them stood perfectly still, yet the branches above them suddenly began to move, brushing against each other, the sudden rustling noise startlingly loud. Dusan’s companions exchanged confused glances. Pulled by an inexplicable impulse, Dusan looked back.

A young man was standing among the trees behind them, some distance away. Dressed in light, soft-looking clothes, he just stood there, smiling. Dusan would have recognized that smile anywhere, anytime. The young man looked about Dusan’s age, so perhaps the air people did indeed age like humans.

Dusan looked back to the old tree and saw a man with a curved sword appear from behind it. The man stopped abruptly, gaping at them.

“Hey!” he shouted.

“Now,” Borwin said, tearing his long knife from its sheath and charging at the man.

Dusan threw one last glance at the creature standing behind them, and followed the others, baring his blade for the fight.

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