The Blade of the Frontiers

The descent through the spider tunnels had taken its toll. I could feel the drag in every step. Shadowheart kept her distance, nursing a leftover bite with silent dignity. Lae’zel grumbled under her breath every third pace. Karlach... well, she was trying to whistle, but it came out half-hearted. We'd won, but not without cost.

By the time we dragged ourselves up the twisting stone throat and emerged into the late afternoon haze above the Blighted Village, I knew the truth: none of us had another fight left in us.

"Camp," I said, voice clipped.

The girls nodded in agreement.

Shadowheart found a dry patch of earth beneath the charred remains of a roof beam and dropped her pack. Karlach started arranging stones for the fire. Lae’zel paced a perimeter out of habit, still too proud to admit she was exhausted.

I was starting to imagine the taste of food when I heard it—a familiar clink of polished boots and a voice that already made my teeth itch.

"Hail! Travelers in these cursed lands! You are accompanied by a vile creature of lies and deceit, yet you needn't fear, for the Blade of the Frontiers is here!"

Oh gods. Not him again.

There he was, gleaming with the smuggest, self-important smile, clothes just too elegant to be of any real use. Wyll. The self-styled Noble Hero.

Karlach straightened up, her whole frame tensing. "No. Not you. Thought I shook you off my track. You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

Wyll pointed dramatically. "Karlach! The stink of Avernus! I have chased your trail from infernal ridges to mortal mud. Your crimes end here!"

I cut in. "Listen, she is not a devil, she—"

"Silence! I will take her head, and yours too if you dare stand in my way," he interrupted.

She held up her hands. "I’m not a devil. Gods, how many times do I have to say it? I didn’t choose what Zariel did to me. I escaped."

"And yet you served," Wyll continued, raising his blade, ready to dash and strike.

A quick pulse followed by a sharp headache rushed over us. Visions of Karlach slaughtering demons in the Hells filled our minds—not with glee, but panic.

"See?" Karlach insisted.

"Lies! You devil filth cannot be trusted!" he spat.

"Stand down. You saw what I saw. She was a victim of the Blood War, not the monster you think she is," I argued, hoping to avoid a fight in our current state.

Karlach pleaded, "You know monsters, right? Better than anyone. Look at me. Can't you see that I'm not a devil?"

Wyll gazed over her, lingering a bit too long for comfort, and blinked. His sword lowered an inch. "Damn it. You truly are no devil."

Karlach let out a long breath and chuckled, "Whew! Thought I was **** to take your head for a moment."

His shoulders relaxed. "You would have died in the attempt. Anyhow, I was wrong. Forgive me, Karlach. Perhaps my heart was not listening."

I groaned internally.

Karlach crossed her arms. Then, with a grunt, she gave a small nod. "Fine. But no more sword-waving."

Wyll gave a short bow. "Then allow me to atone. If you'll have me... I would travel with you."

Nonononononononono.

Karlach smiled. "The more the merrier."

Lae’zel grunted. Shadowheart raised a brow but said nothing.

"Then rejoice," Wyll announced, unnecessarily loudly, "for now you travel with the Blade of the Frontiers!"

I rubbed my temple.

"Just... set your tent up over there," I muttered, pointing way across the campfire, at the far edge of the camp, opposite of Shadowheart.

He nodded with noble seriousness. "Of course. I shall keep my watch from the rear and ensure your safety"

Gods help me.