The Raging Storm

Chapter Sixteen: The Price Of Hope

Ansel Narth surveyed the grassy clearing below through the drizzling rain and pink fog. He sat atop a purple-capped mushroom that stood fifteen spans high, and watched for Crimson Guards. Tonight was his turn to keep watch, and he welcomed the reason to stay awake. Since escaping the prison camp two days earlier, sleep mostly evaded him. Only an hour here or there. The lurking threat the prince could strike at any moment loomed ominously in the back of his mind. He had no intention of becoming a prisoner again; he would rather die before that happened.

High above him, green and purple caps of immense mushrooms blocked his view from the night sky. Raindrops dripped from thick vines that surrounded each mushroom stalk. The thin layer of pink mist was semitransparent, only adding a slight pinkish tint to everything.

The sky was growing brighter with each passing moment. Dawn would welcome them soon enough, and they would need to be on their way. Ansel questioned - not for the first time - if the breakneck pace they kept every day was even necessary. Were the prince, Celibrik, and the Crimson Guard still chasing them? He'd expected to see signs of them by now. But deep down, he knew that the prince would never give up his obsession with him, not until he got his fill of vengeance. Whatever that entailed.

Each night their party searched for a place to sleep that was covered so they could dry their clothes and bodies from the never-ending rain. Sometimes, the rain would slow to a drizzle but never would cease entirely. He looked up at the sky and wet droplets softly landed on his face, soaking into his already wet Shroomveil. Every time he grew tired of the conditions they faced, he reminded himself: I'd rather deal with this than be a prisoner any day. That always reset his mood.

Ansel adjusted his Shroomveil and scooted backward until he was protected from the rain by the mushroom cap overhead. It had taken him a while to get used to wearing the mask all day, but he would rather be uncomfortable than mad. Quite an easy choice. He feared what another full breath of the pink mist would do to him. A shiver went down his spine at the thought.

He looked down to his left, just a few spans below where he was sitting. Three shadowed figures sat together under the cover of another mushroom. They sat in a triangle formation, conversing in low tones. Over the soft patter of the rain, he couldn't make out a word the Aslians said. He strained his ears but knew it was useless. He knew the Aslians purposefully sat that distance away, just out of earshot. They had kept their distance from him and the other humans - besides Zeer - since the first day. What are they saying? He wondered, not for the first time.

The first day they'd all met, Ansel had been dumbfounded seeing the Native Races for the first time. Aslians, Asli, sylvirians, and drows. Such strange names. Some of the men - including Reed - expressed distaste at their request to not be called 'the Native Races' but Zeer demanded that every man oblige them. So everyone did, including Ansel. He didn't mind.

Zeer. Ansel tore his gaze from the Aslians conversing in the shadows and peered below him to his right. Seven sleeping figures were laying in a circle formation, with one figure sitting upright against a massive white stalk covered in vine. He couldn't make out who the person was, but his gut told him it was Zeer. Somehow the man was more restless than he was the past few days.

Ansel stood up, walked over to the vines behind him, and climbed down the mushroom stalk to the ground below. The covering from the immense mushroom cap overhead protected him from the rain on the way down, making the descent easy.

He landed with a soft thud, then carefully stepped over the sleeping men on his way to Zeer, and sat down to his right. He leaned back against the white stalk and waited, enjoying the silence. The bedding he'd set up earlier was at his feet, so he leaned forward, grabbed his blanket, and wrapped it around his shoulders. The soft pitter-patter from the rain echoed all around them. Zeer, who sat with his arms and legs crossed, didn't react to his presence. He just kept staring out into the mushroom forest with a glazed look. Zeer's black hair with the silver streak was pulled back into a ponytail.