Do rocks need to sleep?

  It’s not a question I’ve ever asked myself before.

  Perhaps it’s not a question that anyone has asked before.

  Ulfgar and I had ‘tracked’ a golem through a forest; an obvious pathway through the thick brush had been carved in the shape of a gigantic humanoid. It lessened from a dramatic excavation to something more subtle. A few snapped branches here or there. Large circular footprints left in dirt and piles of leaves.

  Now, we find a large opening with dozens of trees shorn near the ground, leaving jagged trunks. A huge lean-to shelter sits at the center, made of logs instead of branches and twigs. Underneath lies a hulking creature made of the same dark bricks as many of the buildings at Yon’Kor, grey dried mortar between each, but in larger segments at the joints.

  The moonlight fights its way in small beams through the canopy overhead, but it’s too dark to see.

  Ulfgar and I watch on from the bushes. It doesn’t seem to notice us. If only we had the bear's eyes. After placing a hand on his shoulder, I try to sense the thread of magic that connects us. Nothing. It’s grey and cold. The pirate fight drained it dry. Powerful magic demands a cooling-off period, and apparently, turning into two thousand pounds of apex predator carries a hefty time tax.

  In the nearly pitch-black, Ulfgar’s face is just a silhouette. He points at the golem, makes a swinging gesture, and mouths the word: Smash?

  I shake my head: No. I don’t know much about these other than each one is different, a customized creation to protect or attack. This one could see in the dark, while we’d be at a great disadvantage. Unless Ulfgar could pulverize its structural integrity in one swing, then the rest of the combat would be in the dark.

  Sticking a thumb away from the stone monster’s camp, I sneak back deeper into the woods, and Ulfgar follows. We begin to strategize out of earshot of our quarry.

  “Zane, it’s vulnerable now. One hit to the head! It’ll be over.”

  “No, it doesn’t have an anatomy. There’s not a brain in a skull for you to break open like a melon. Even if you shattered its head, it could still fight and maybe even see.” It’s a being held together by magic, afterall.

  “Then what should we do?” Ulfgar asks.

  “Let’s find an ambush point tomorrow and coax it there in the daylight.”

  We make a shoddy camp a bit farther away, just bedrolls and a small fire. After skewering the smoked fish on a stick, we reheat the filets just above the fire, the salty aroma filling the air. A mistake for sure, since it could attract any manner of awful thing, but we need a pick-me-up. Charcoals I’d kept from a prior night served as most of the fuel, giving us a relatively smokeless flame.

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  Ulfgar has been running low on his combat fuel for days. Dark circles droop under both of his eyes like fresh bruises, and his lips are pale. “You look like death,” I say.

  “I feel worse,” Ulfgar says. “I need to resupply. Not sure how in this climate.”

  The zerkers hail from the far south, where it is cold year-round.

  “Maybe it’s time you learned to fight without it?”

  “No. The herbs have two purposes. They make us fearsome, instilling terror in our enemies, but also subduing it in ourselves.”

  Subdue? Instill? These are big words for Ulfgar.

  “I think they might dull your mind as well. You seem sharper.”

  “I can’t be scared in combat, Zane. Not when our lives are on the line. Panic makes you hesitate, and hesitation makes you die.”

  More wise words. Maybe I should leave Ulfgar at Yon’Kor, too?

  “How about you, Zane? How do you not feel fear?”

  Good question.

  “I guess I just don’t.”

  “But how come? Don’t you worry about dying?”

  “We’re here till we ain’t.” It’s my father’s line. It emerges like a reflex. Or a prayer. I instinctively touch his memorial coin hanging from my neck. The magic nips at my fingers.

  “I wish I could think like that,” Ulfgar says. He jams the entire fish filet into his mouth and consumes it in two bites. “Bright moon, Zane.” He turns away from the firelight, lifting a cloak over his body.

  The next day, we search nearby for a perfect place to ambush a golem.

  “Zane! Check this out.”

  I find Ulfgar with the tips of his boots hanging off the edge, leading down into a pit. Huge branches still green with broad leaves hang over it, obscuring it from view.

  “Perfect, right?”

  “Interesting,” I say, kneeling down near the edge. There are large claw marks at the edges. Running a finger inside one of the grooves, I can tell it’s fresh and hardly weathered from rain.

  “Think hunters made the pit trap, and whatever they caught crawled out?” Ulfgar asks.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  Snap.

  Below us.

  Erupting from the vegetation covering the hole, a serpentine blur reaches up, snatches Ulfgar, and they both plummet down into the darkness below.

  There’s just emerald scales and fangs swirling in a cloud of dust at the bottom. My bow’s in my hand without a thought, and I train an arrow, waiting for something, anything to shoot.

  When the dust dissipates slightly, the wyrm has wrapped Ulfgar entirely, claws digging into his shoulders. His arms reach up, one hand grabbing the top jaw, the other trapping the bottom, preventing the mouth from swallowing him whole.

  Thwip, thwip, thwip! Three arrows in rapid succession. One bounces off the scaly skin harmlessly, but the other two find small gaps. It doesn’t react. No blood is even drawn. I need to hit something soft. A large serpentine eye stares up at me. I could try, but it and Ulfgar are moving too much. I might hit him instead.

  “Zane! Help!” Ulfgar’s bellowing cry echoes up and out of the chasm. The entire forest could hear that.

  Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. CRASH.

  In moments, standing at the edge and looking at me is the Yon’Kor golem. It leans down, then launches itself into the air, blocking out the few sunbeams and blotting out the area, sending it into darkness.