Chapter 16: Hiding
Oliver barked sharply. “Go, now! I’ll hold them off!”
Isolde, knowing he could fend for himself, quickly replied, “I’ll leave a trail for you. There’s a place you can hide for now. Once you get free, head right. Near a large boulder covered in vines, you’ll find the entrance to a cave.”
Without waiting for a response, she scooped up Theodric and ran forward with all her might. But the mountain bandits closed in, blocking her escape from three sides. She swiftly unfastened her belt, secured Theodric to her back, and, with her Flowing Cloud Whip in hand, dove into the fray alongside Leonis.
Leonis fought ferociously, lunging and tearing at the attackers, saving Isolde from several close calls. But with Theodric on her back, she was at a disadvantage. She couldn’t launch an offensive and was forced to defend, step by step. After over a hundred exchanges, her arms were slashed, and a cut on her calf slowed her down. Theodric clung to her, sobbing in fright.
Suddenly, Oliver broke free from the enemy’s encirclement, leaping through the air like a hawk. He landed with precision, knocking several bandits aside with swift kicks before turning to her. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.
“Just scratches!” Isolde shouted back, breathless.
“Go, now!” Oliver commanded, slashing his way toward her, his blade cutting down those who dared approach. Without hesitation, Isolde turned and fled. The night was pitch black, and she couldn’t see the path ahead. She relied entirely on memory to guide her. Her exceptional memory, honed through past battlefield experience, didn’t fail her. She reached the hidden cave she’d stumbled upon in a previous life.
Tossing down her handkerchief as a marker, she slipped inside and quickly untied Theodric. At last, she allowed herself a moment to catch her breath.
“We’re safe now,” she whispered, holding Theodric close; her voice soft but steady. The boy lay limply against her, his sobbing subsided, though he remained silent. Isolde noticed his burning forehead—his fever was worse. He needed a healer, and fast.
Clutching Theodric, she waited anxiously for what felt like hours. At last, she heard faint movement outside. Her heart leaped. Is it the bandits or Oliver?
Relief washed over her as Leonis bounded into the cave. She hugged the wolf tightly before looking up to see Oliver slip inside behind him. The sharp scent of blood hit her nose. She noticed his labored breathing.
“You’re hurt?” she asked, alarmed.
“Just a scratch,” Oliver replied gruffly, dismissing her concern. He sank to the ground beside her, his…
“They shouldn’t,” Isolde answered. “I found it by chance long ago. The vines outside hide the entrance—it just looks like part of the mountainside.”
The darkness swallowed them, the faint light of stars and moon unable to pierce the cave. Only their ragged breathing broke the silence. Theodric stirred, startled awake by the unfamiliar presence. Fevered and frightened, he began to cry.
“Don’t cry,” Isolde whispered, stroking his back gently. “If you cry, the bad men will hear us.”
Theodric froze, his small body trembling as he buried his face against her shoulder.
Oliver’s voice cut through the quiet. “How do you know Wolf Mountain so well?” he asked, his tone low.
“Quiet,” Isolde hissed, motioning for him to stay silent.
From outside came the chaotic sound of footsteps and angry shouts. “Search every inch of this cursed mountain! Find those wretches and gut them alive!”
Theodric gripped Isolde’s hand tightly. She held him close, her touch steadying his trembling frame. The cave was barely large enough for two, forcing Isolde and Oliver to sit shoulder to shoulder. Their heartbeats thundered in the oppressive silence, each pulse magnified by the confined space. Torchlight flickered outside, briefly illuminating their tense faces. Oliver’s hand went to his sword; his body coiled like a predator ready to spring. If the enemy drew close, he would strike.
But the hiding place proved its worth. The light and voices faded as the bandits moved on. Isolde exhaled, her shoulders sagging with relief.
Oliver released her arm, but his fingers came away sticky and wet. He brought them to his nose and caught the metallic tang of blood. His gaze snapped to her. “You’re injured? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s nothing,” Isolde replied, her voice calm but distant.
Oliver caught on immediately. “What’s wrong?”
Without any fluctuation in her voice, Isolde said, “Five inches from my right hand. Strike.”
The blade in Oliver’s hand flashed, slicing precisely five inches from her right hand. The sharp scent of blood filled the air. Reaching out to touch, he felt a cold, slippery surface. It was a snake.
“Did it bite?” he asked sharply.
“Yes,” Isolde replied curtly.
Theodric curled into himself, trembling as he asked, “What… what is it?”
“Ants,” Isolde said with a faint smile. “Don’t be afraid. Ant bites don’t hurt.”
Oliver said nothing but grabbed Isolde’s right hand, feeling around the wound. “It’s too dark to tell if it’s venomous. Hold still.”
“Thank you,” Isolde muttered, her voice unclear.
The tip of his sword carefully reopened her wound. Oliver pressed his palm, infused with warm energy, against her shoulder, guiding it downward. Blood flowed steadily from the wound.
“You carry Sage Fragrance, don’t you?” Isolde’s voice was faint, almost a whisper. It was clear now—a venomous snake.
In the dim light, Oliver’s eyes flickered. “I do.”
The fragrance, known for its properties to counteract poison and swelling, was their only hope. Oliver retrieved a small sachet, crushed a piece of the resin into powder with a slight press of his fingers, and infused it with his energy before placing it gently into her mouth.
Once the bleeding was controlled, Oliver tore off a strip of cloth to bandage the wound. Isolde’s head slowly leaned against his shoulder, motionless, her body drained from the ordeal. Oliver checked her pulse—rapid but steady. Relieved, he finally allowed himself to relax.
As the Sage Fragrance worked its calming magic, Isolde slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep. It was the first peaceful rest she’d had since her rebirth. Outside, danger loomed, with pursuers on their trail and venomous creatures lurking within the cave. Yet here, in this perilous refuge, she slept soundly.
Oliver, however, stayed awake. Leaning against the rocky wall, his ears caught every sound—the rustle of leaves, the faintest movements. He remained on edge, especially attuned to the slither of scales or the hiss of a snake. But above all, the clearest sound was her steady breathing.
It struck him—she had even set aside her whip. She trusted him completely. He thought back to her earlier actions. It was incredible. Despite her internal injuries, she had carried Theodric and fought through wave after wave of enemies.
But one question lingered in his mind. Though she grew up in the secluded manor in Windermount, where did she learn such remarkable skills?
Suddenly, he found Leonis was missing. His eyes instinctively scanned the darkness, finding nothing. His movement, however, stirred Isolde. Without even lifting her head, she murmured, “Leonis outside. It’ll let us know when the danger has passed.”
Oliver scoffed lightly. “That little beast does seem clever.”
Theodric, in a soft, childish voice, raised his head and said, “Mother said only she can call me a little beast. You’re not allowed.”
Both adults laughed. Isolde patted Theodric’s back, saying, “He wasn’t talking about you.”
The tension eased, and the atmosphere grew warmer. It was early May, but the mountain air was cold. Isolde’s body, already weakened from her injuries, now suffered a venomous bite. She shivered, frailer than ever. The three huddled together for warmth. The delicate scent of Sage Fragrance lingered in the air, bringing an unexpected sense of peace to the treacherous night.