Chapter XXXVI
Traces
20th of Early Summer, 376, 5th Era – Terra Firma of The Bison, Central Hargirm
The feathery black raven croaked as she followed the traces of scent in the air, gliding and flapping fiercely above the plains of central Hargirm by the light of day. She saw a group of . . . somethings in the distance, and made a shrill noise as she approached them.
Huge, furry creatures coated in shiny metal, that was what they were, and they seemed dangerous. Remaining quiet, the raven flew high above them, hoping that they wouldn’t see her as she passed overhead. A tree in the near distance seemed like a fine resting place, so she came to land on one of the twigs of a branch. It bounced from her sudden weight, but she balanced perfectly on the shifting stick. She squawked with annoyance and watched the furry creatures with dark eyes. Those creatures were surrounding something dead and rotten that she could feed on, so when they were done with it, she would swoop in and scavenge on the remains . . .
Faeyl felt sick. She was going to continue feeling sick for some time, until that disgusting image left her head. Just three days in and she was already considering turning back.
But no—she wouldn’t leave Fælwiix until the right moment came, no matter how many times she vomited. Tightening her grip on the thick grass at her knees, she struggled to stand up. Ta`vik was there to support her. She groped at his armor and leaned against him, feeling dizzy in the head.
The army was in the middle of the plains, surrounded by gentle green hills and many times treeless flat expanses. The day was bright and still, hazy stratus clouds crawling inconspicuously across the light azure sky. Bæl`diis hung in the south like a little red marble, and Orøs hovered dangerously in the sky almost directly above them.
Faeyl wished that Fælwiix was there to at least try and comfort her, since Ta`vik was too logical and technical to assure her in any warm terms, but the Commander was inspecting the situation himself. She cradled Innocence in the carrier as she glanced back at the circle of Wolverines making a ring around the thing. The rest of the army milled about, some of the warriors peeking over those making up the circle.
Fælwiix held a grim look as he studied the disgusting mass of flesh on the ground. It was . . . a combination of random parts of animal flesh, bunched together to make an unsymmetrical beast. It seemed to be a piece of ‘art’ made by some demented Soul. Only . . . it was writhing and croaking at them, baring rotten bones that were once a rib-cage of some elk, now turned to an oral cavity.
It turned his stomach, and he was used to eating decayed carcasses.
“Sorcery, it’s Black Magic,” one of the Wolverines said to no one.
The creature gave a wild shriek and then collapsed, falling to pieces. Hunks of flesh that were never meant to be melded together finally separated.
“Fucking Avakil,” Fælwiix cursed and turned away from it. After the war with the Wolves, he had lived for a time with the Ibex, at the invitation of Eybexus. The old goat had told Fælwiix of his own battles against Quix, and the dark fauna that the Overlord had sprouted for his armies. The Avakil were among those creatures listed. One of many, but by far, the most disturbing.
Most of the other Wolverines were clueless as to what the thing was, so Fælwiix addressed them. “This creature is one of Quix’s own. It seems that Mithonstorng has already been opened, to a degree. We will have to be doubly cautious as we continue south. I suspect that this beast is only one among many. Spread the word.”
He then came to Ta`vik and Faeyl, the latter of which seemed positively sick.
“What precautions should we take, Fælwiix?” Ta`vik asked.
Fælwiix’s eyes glinted. “As I said, double them. I want twice what we’ve had for scouts tracing our path ahead, and just as many patrolling our rear. We have had few sentries to our flanks, so add four times as many to each.” Fælwiix seemed to be in his element; he gained strength with each word and had confidence in his voice. It was time for war.
Faeyl cradled Innocence as the army moved out, trying to push those horrible images out of her head at the same moment. She was grateful that her daughter hadn’t seen anything—Innocence had been buried deep in her carrier—and hoped to be out of the mess as quickly as possible. But first, I have to help Fælwiix. I know I have to. But when?
“Faeyl,” Fælwiix addressed as he came up to her, “are you ready?”
She nodded cautiously. “I think so.” Even more carefully, she mounted the saddle on his back and hung onto her pack which was strapped to it.
“You will have to be ready to escape with Ta`vik, if the need arises.”
“But what if you need my help?”
Fælwiix growled a curse. Faeyl could be too foolish at times. “Whatever help I may need, you won’t be able to render it in the middle of a battle. Just be ready to remount Ta`vik when I tell you.” He felt like he was giving commands to his own kit, when he told her to listen to him.
If only he had commanded Læf not to jump into rivers, and Felkis to beware of trees. Maybe it is better that they aren’t alive to witness war, or to die one of its many deaths. At the thought of war, he pushed aside the memories of his offspring, however happy and sorrowful the recollections were.
“Fælwiix,” Faeyl said suddenly. “What . . . what was that thing?” She had finally conquered the queasiness in her stomach. Starting a conversation also helped to keep the sickness at bay; talking was one of her favorite pastimes, after all.
“It was an Avakil . . . they are made by those who possess the dark kinds of Magic. Apparently the sorcerer who made that beast stopped focusing any power into it, so the thing fell apart.”
“So it might not be part Quix’s army.”
Fælwiix sniffed the air uneasily. “It could only be from his army,” he said. “Quix is the one who first created those beasts. Either it was he who made the Avakil we just saw, or someone who was taught by him. I doubt he would teach someone who might rebel against him, or that anyone is genius enough—or stupid—to reverse engineer the Magic.”
“Well, at least you only have to worry about Quix, instead of him and another demon.”
“Only? I don’t think that another demon would really add much more worry than–” He cut off and tilted his head to the side. “Do you hear that?” he asked.
“What?”
Ta`vik suddenly trotted up to Fælwiix, a fearful glaze shrouding his eyes. It was the first time Faeyl had ever seen the technical Wolverine hold a look of terror. Ta`vik’s whiskers twitched as he stood on his hind feet to get a better look at the distant horizons.
“You hear it as well?” Fælwiix asked his second-in-command, and Ta`vik nodded. The Commander shifted slowly on his paws. “We’ve survived it once before, I’m sure that we can do so again.”
Faeyl was utterly confused, until she heard—and felt—what the two antherans were on about. A deep rumble was making the earth tremble. “Fælwiix, what is happening?” she asked, and she began to quiver as well. If the Wolverines were afraid, she should be petrified with fear.
“In a minute,” the Commander growled. He turned to the army which had stopped from curiosity. None of those Wolverines had been part of the previous war, nor had they even heard of what was approaching them now. “Form columns and lines!” the Commander roared. “Close your ranks! Get as close together as possible. We have to appear as a solid mass.”
Though confused by the orders, the Wolverines came close together and compressed into a much smaller group.
“Call back all of the scouts—I don’t care if you have to make a racket, it doesn’t matter now.”
The mustelids began growling and screaming loudly, hurting each other’s ears but continuing nonetheless. Within minutes, the scouts came from every direction and joined the squashed army. The rumbling in the ground became more noticeable, until the soil could be seen to move.
“Once,” Fælwiix began to say to Faeyl, becoming surprisingly calm after the army had made a small square. The weasels were practically stacked atop one another. “Just once, in my war with the Wolves, a battle was stopped right at its climax. Few things could stop an army of Wolverines and an army of Wolves going at each other’s throats, unless they were all faced with obliteration.” He laughed dryly at that, just as a dark line formed on the horizon in the west. The line extended for miles to the north and south. “You would think that only The Void, or a pack of Dragons would make us believe that we were about to be destroyed, but both sides learned that day that there were other creatures who had power to overcome us. I hate to admit it, but the Wolverines and Wolves bunched together in fear, as the horde passed us by. We didn’t even claw at the other’s eyes as we waited for the millions to pass us.”
Faeyl couldn’t even feel her heart pounding from the anticipation in the air—the quaking ground sounded like thunder, and blocked all other noises. The line on the horizon in the east approached and grew, and it became clear that the whole mass was dark umber in color, and made up of countless individual creatures as large as any of the Wolverines. The thunder in the earth became so powerful that the Wolverines lost their balance on it, despite having four steady limbs. The horde of creatures finally revealed what they were as they came dangerously close.
Bison. It was a herd of bison, numbering in the millions.
The horde split and washed around the Wolverines as if they were a copse of trees. One of the bison stopped and breathed heavily nearby the army, hooves dancing actively on the grass. The horde continued to rush past them, with no end in sight. There truly were millions of the beasts.
Ta`vik was wide-eyed with shock, fear and memory. He had nearly been trampled to death when the herd had passed through that battle with the Wolves. He had seen more than one of his comrades—and enemies—get crushed to death by the relentless hooves of the bison, and he had gained a phobia because of it.
The Wolverines nearby the halted bison suddenly heard a voice speak in their minds. Faeyl heard it also, as she was close to the bison as well. The creature had stopped prancing about and now looked at them intently.
“There are flesh-monsters and night-demons behind us. Beware.” It was the bison who said it, and his Telepathic voice somehow made itself clear in the minds of the Wolverines, regardless of the thundering hooves surrounding them.
Fælwiix jumped from the intruding voice, but quickly regained himself. “How far are they?” he asked aloud.
“A hundred hills behind us, a thousand; I was not counting.” The bison gave him an odd look. “They have poisoned steel. Beware of the flesh-monsters.” After giving that warning, he galloped into the living wave of the herd and disappeared in among the countless cattle.
The end of the horde finally showed itself on the horizon, and after a few moments, the bison were rumbling to the west of the army, rolling over the hills in the distance.
Faeyl felt sorry for any small creatures that were in the path of that stampede. “I had always heard that the villages in Hargirm had to be rebuilt every year or so. I guess the bison plow them over if they aren’t dense enough.”
Fælwiix growled in laughter. “Imagine if the bison were armored and sent to destroy Quix’s army. I doubt even his hordes could survive that.” He was wrong.
Ta`vik shivered, and Faeyl couldn’t tell if he looked more like a dog or a cat in that moment. “Well,” the stone of an antheran said, “that’s over with.”
The Commander turned to his second. “Reorganize the army and send the scouts to their positions again. Warn them of more Avakil, and the possibility of Srinaj. Remind them of their vocal signals.”
Ta`vik gave a quick nod, and then trotted off, as emotive as he had been a few moments before the bison had arrived, which was not at all.
The army resumed its trek south, cutting around the foundations of the hills and taking cover underneath any copses of trees that they could find. They splashed noisily across small streams, and Faeyl saw at least one of the Wolverines tearing a fish out of its watery abode to swallow it whole. The warriors fed where they could, since being rationed left them hungry most days of the week.
Fælwiix looked to Bæl`diis, where it hung in the south. Once it had circled Galithour and returned to that same place, the Wolverine army would truly be starving. He had not explained to his army or his trusted commanders of the inevitable reality. The war was suicide in all cases. He had almost forgotten the fact himself, having focused too much on the complications that Faeyl had added.
He hoped that they could reach Mithonstorng and tear Quix’s armies to shreds before the Wolverines died of hunger. We will have to move faster, wring out a few more miles each day.
Growling to his fellow warriors, he broke into a lumbering trot, causing Faeyl to yelp from her perch atop his back. He took the lead, and the army clattered behind him to keep pace. Ta`vik came after a while to travel beside the Commander.
“Everything seems quiet, for now, Fælwiix.”
He nodded in acknowledgment of his second-in-command. “Take Faeyl as your passenger for a moment,” he said unexpectedly.
Faeyl shifted in her saddle. “Why do you want me to–”
“Just do it,” Fælwiix demanded.
The two weasels stopped in their trek so Faeyl could dismount and transfer her knapsack to Ta`vik’s saddle. The army was just upon their paws when Ta`vik began to move again, and Fælwiix darted forward.
Except for the scouts that were miles ahead, the Commander was the head of the arrow-shaft, and he pierced the landscape just as surely as his army followed after. At each peak of each knoll, he gazed out, scanning the sparse trees and overgrown rocky hillsides that were becoming more common within the landscape. Just once, he saw one of his scouts on a hilltop in the south, the direction of their journey. The scouting antheran disappeared behind the hill and into a copse of trees.
Nodding in approval, Fælwiix continued on, feeling warm and comfortable in the bright afternoon. He gazed at the moons and the small clouds in the sky, and then at the sun, which was at its peak. Maybe he felt a little too warm. I’ll swim across the next river—was that a warning howl?
He gazed south, straining his ears and sniffing the air. He was downwind of the small breeze, but his nose still caught something decayed in the distance, and he heard the hint of a growl from where the scent floated from. Without forewarning the army, which trailed him from a long way off, he sped his pace and approached the copse of trees that his scout had used as cover. Just as the trees began to loom overhead, he heard the dying groans of a Wolverine.
Looking about quickly, he scanned the tumbled, rocky ground and the brush that grew all over it.
Nothing.
Following the noises, he came to a clearing, and then a thickly wooded area, constantly peeking around the trunks of trees to see what laid ahead, almost forgetting to look back to see what trailed behind. The panted growling had stopped, just as Fælwiix came within sight of his dead scout.
Srinaj horded around the prone Wolverine, jagged teeth digging into him where his armor failed to protect his flesh, feeding off of the last of his life-force. The light had already left his sapphire eyes.
The ten or so Srinaj slowly turned to face Fælwiix, and he could see that the demons were utterly black, demented beasts with toothy, eyeless grins. No light touched their flesh.
Roaring lividly, Fælwiix leapt after the closest of the Srinaj—a sort of monstrous feline—and tore at its solid flesh with his teeth. His Ravaging took him over, making his veins swell with thoughtless rage, giving him strength and agility.
He hadn’t known the Wolverine scout by name, but every single death in his army would be a personal injury to him.
The flesh of the Srinaj tasted bitter, so Fælwiix spit it out to take another bite from the demon. The Srinaj dug its own teeth into his armored shoulder, and the other demons jumped onto him, several of them rivaling him in size. He thrashed and hissed at them, throwing several of the demons off, but their claws and jagged teeth kept reaching for him and left black marks on his armor. The Tulmalin-wrought Arium was untouched otherwise, and continued to preserve his life over and over again.
With a deafening howl, the feline of a Srinaj made the first vocal noise out of all the demons and fell limply to the ground, sufficiently torn open and bitten out of to suit Fælwiix’s tastes. Thick, black sludge leaked slowly out of its various wounds.
The Commander rolled onto his back to rid the Srinaj clinging to it, and kicked his four limbs about, slashing at the demons that were crawling over him, all attempting to reveal his innards with their teeth and claws. The chain-mail coating his underside prevented them from accomplishing that, and instead, he gashed them all over with grooves forged by his long claws. He thrust out with his fanged mouth and clenched down on the neck of a jagged sort of equine, relieving its shoulders of its head. More of that black, gelatinous slime dripped out of the split neck of the Srinaj as the body fell over, seemingly dead.
Flinging the monstrous head away from himself, Fælwiix rolled back onto his feet, throwing the remaining Srinaj aside. He fell onto his front limbs, feeling suddenly tired and weak.
From the two Srinaj that he had slain, their liquid life-force poured out of their wounds, seeping onto the ground like snakes and curling around the Wolverine’s ankles and paws, sucking at him like parasitic worms.
Howling, Fælwiix tore away from the deadly tendrils and hurled himself at the remaining Srinaj, tearing limb from body and moving too fast for the black sludge to feed off of him.
He realized moments later that the demons were defeated, and only one or two of them convulsed and twitched in their death throes. The tendrils of parasitic darkness reached for him but fell short when he backed away. They would die of starvation . . . eventually. It was slightly eerie, seeing the demons shift on the ground as their innards tugged them around in the search for victims.
With his Ravaging fading away, he looked sadly at his scout who had once been living. Fælwiix turned slowly to depart the Cursed place.
He found himself faced by an enormous and bulbous Avakil, forged from what seemed to be recently slaughtered bison. The thing had several shafts of steel planted within its flesh that stuck out at odd angles, making the beast dangerous to approach without being pierced or scratched.
Fælwiix backed away, the Avakil being three times his size and height. It gurgled and creaked before it realized that he was standing right before it. The spine of the torso of some bison split open to reveal a rotten, empty cavern that was made especially to swallow the Wolverine.
Having no intention of being eaten by the disgusting creature, Fælwiix dodged it as it advanced with ponderous steps, and then pounded it carefully in the flank with the pads of his front paws. The thing teetered on its multiple hooves and limb-substitutes before it fell over. The Magic holding it together was not powerful enough to keep it melded, and the fall destroyed the monster, making it break apart with a final croak.
Fælwiix looked down to his bleeding abdomen. A thin piece of sharpened steel from the Avakil had sneaked through a loop of his chain-mail and had stabbed into him. It had cleft a gash in his stomach as it dragged along from the weight of the falling Avakil.
“Ahh,” Fælwiix noised deep in his throat as he tore away from the steel. Dark crimson blood rained in a curtain from the wound, painting the dirt and underbrush as he stepped away from the deceased Avakil. He stumbled dazedly from the carcass and set his legs in motion towards the edge of the small woods. When he reached the open, hilly plains, he collapsed onto his flank, the blood from his wound cascading and soaking his fur. It flooded the plates of his armor and turned the grass red all around him.
All he could think of at that moment was of the horrible pain, and that he had failed his mission. A third thought bore into him just as he hazily saw his army rounding the knoll nearest to him. He hadn’t kept his promise to Faeyl—he hadn’t seen her safely home.
After that it was just the pain.
Chapter XXXVII
Blood and Bones
20th of Early Summer, 376, 5th Era – Terra Firma of The Bison, Central Hargirm
This was it. This was what Faeyl had prepared herself for. But she still wasn’t ready for it. She was kneeling by Fælwiix’s side, hand held pointlessly over his flooding wound. The Wolverines were standing around the Commander, shocked to stillness.
“Get his armor off,” she ordered, and Ta`vik came to his Commander’s side, using his teeth to pull out the pins that held the chain-mail and plates together. Fælwiix tried to push his second-in-command away, but only managed to flail his paw uselessly in the air and growl in agony. The armor slid over and away from the long gash along his abdomen, giving Faeyl access to the wound.
She took her baby’s basket-sling off of her shoulders and placed it on the ground away from the Wolverine Commander. “Watch over her,” she said to Ta`vik, and grabbed her knapsack off of the antheran’s back.
“I will,” he promised, scooping the carrier between his two fore-limbs and guarding it as a cat would for a plaything. He watched Faeyl and his Commander from his position with an anxious, helpless look.
Faeyl felt shaky all over, and poured every item of her rucksack onto the ground, to make the task of finding what she needed quicker. Between her two Emberstones a little garter snake seemed to wake up, and he slithered into the grass, along with a fat cricket who squeaked as she hopped off into the undergrowth.
Picking up the stones, she unwrapped the cloth around them and struck them fiercely together, throwing the newly ignited rocks onto the ground afterwards. “Tell the Wolverines to keep an eye on the fire and to gather wood for it. Do it now!” she yelled towards Ta`vik, suddenly panicking. Fælwiix was dying and there was close to nothing that she could do for him.
Ta`vik obeyed her as much as he would have Fælwiix, and he translated the orders to some of the surrounding weasels. He then made commands to set up parties and more scouts to find whoever had injured the Commander.
Without a thought for herself, Faeyl tenderly fingered the wound, making Fælwiix hiss and claw at the air and the ground frantically.
Ta`vik stood up. “Faeyl, he will kill you.”
“Then tell some of the warriors to turn him on his back and hold him down.”
As the Wolverines did this, Faeyl quickly unsheathed the dagger at her waist and threw its blade into the fire. The antherans had already built the fire up, miraculously keeping it alive and contained.
With the wound faced upwards, it bled less easily, but regardless of that, Faeyl was already coated and soaked in blood. She thought wordlessly as she went to a large, corked bottle on the ground and wrenched the stopper off, hands leaving a crimson smears all over the glass. She sprinkled the powder it contained along Fælwiix’s wound, the white dust being a sort of staunching substance. It helped greatly, and the blood began to clot and seal the wound almost instantly.
She sighed with gratitude; the Tulmalin may have saved the Commander’s life with their advanced medicines. But it wasn’t the end, not yet. The deeper, untreated flesh still bubbled with arterial blood and threatened to burst through the clotted wall. And a staunching powder wouldn’t mend the flesh.
The wound had gone deep; not enough to pierce his organs, but it had torn far into his abdominal muscle-wall, and it would need to be clenched together if it were to ever heal. Faeyl also had to prevent an infection, which complicated the situation further.
She took a bottle of salt and poured a portion of it into a pan, dousing it with water from her canteen afterwards. Mixing the saline solution quickly, she impatiently waited for the salts to dissolve, and then drenched Fælwiix’s wound with it. He struggled from the sudden pang, causing the clotted gash to tear open again.
Faeyl frantically searched the ground where her possessions laid. Thank The Mountain, she thought as she located the staunching powder and found the bottle to be just less than half full. She treated the wound again, after Fælwiix had calmed down, and then brought a large needle and a length of twine out of her supplies.
With her hands slipping over the blood-soaked fur, Faeyl meticulously and yet hurriedly stitched the gash. With the help of the clotting powder, the hemorrhaging stopped, and the firm stitches kept the wound closed. At the higher end of the wound, however, there was a wider patch of torn flesh that hadn’t gone deep, but had left a broad opening.
Faeyl reached for her dagger in the fire, grabbing the weapon by the hilt. The wood of the handle had charred, and it burned her hand, but the reddish glowing steel was all she cared about at that moment. She placed the flat side of the blade on the wide part of the gash, causing the blood to boil and then cauterize a second later. Fælwiix tried to escape the new pain, but his warriors worked hard to keep him still, and barely succeeded.
Taking a cloth, Faeyl cleaned the blood off of Fælwiix, finding to her relief that little of the crimson fluid was replaced by his stitched wound.
Did I save him? she wondered. She hadn’t realized how panicked her breathing had been, or that her heart ached from having thrummed so hard.
“Faeyl!” Ta`vik’s voice rang out behind her. She heard Innocence’s crying accompanying his speech. “Faeyl, your kit is crying and I can’t get her to stop.”
She ignored both pleading voices for a moment as she assured herself that Fælwiix’s wound wouldn’t burst open again. “Tell the Wolverines to keep him on his back,” she said to Ta`vik as she came to retrieve her baby.
He pushed Innocence’s carrier—and consequentially Innocence—towards her, and stood. He relaid the order to the antherans who still held Fælwiix down, though the Commander moved only weakly, seeming to need little attention from them.
The second-in-command then called for the scouts he had sent out. This is odd, he thought as he walked through the circle that the army had made around their Commander. I’m the leader now. I have only ever played at it, but now, I am completely in charge. He felt a little queasy, which was rare for him. Everyone was relying on him, and if Fælwiix somehow died, he would have to lead them to victory or defeat. I don’t think I can do this.
He focused on finding the scouts, but they found him first, and reported what they had found.
“There are the dead remains of what we think to be an Avakil,” one of the scouts said. “It had blades and bits of steel sticking out of it, and the Commander’s trail of blood led from it. There were also the injured remains of several creatures that were as black as night.”
“One of our own was found dead next to those creatures,” another antheran broke in, looking uneasy.
Ta`vik remained stoic, but muttered in a low voice. “Srinaj.” He then spoke openly, looking from one mustelid to the other. “Call all of the outlying scouts back, and then have them patrol at a mile’s distance from the army. Gather fifty more warriors afterwards and make a scouting line a mile further than the inner ring. Understand?”
The two carnivores nodded and then scampered off, howling and screaming bestially to be heard by the scouts in the south, east and west.
Ta`vik returned to the clearing where Fælwiix lay, half unconscious. Faeyl was sitting nearby, staring at the Commander and holding Innocence in her lap, still too shocked to cry. Her infant daughter reached towards her and babbled, seeming less pathetic than a few months before, when she couldn’t even hold her own head up. Faeyl had already taken the precaution of washing her hands, having scrubbed them in the outlying ashes of the fire, so she untied the top of her tunic and fed Innocence with hesitation. She was too distracted to give her child any more attention than that, and she went back to gazing worriedly at Fælwiix.
He seemed to be too weakened to move very much, so the Wolverines who had been clamping him down so far backed away and watched him from a few steps’ distance.
The antheran groaned, shifting his forelimbs, which had been pressed to the ground above his head by his own warriors. Suddenly, he growled. “Fucking Avakil.”
The Wolverines were held captive in the middle of the plains as their Commander healed. Fælwiix wanted to move the very next day after his wound, but Faeyl knew that he was just acting delusional because of the pain. He was easy to convince to remain stagnant, that day.
The next day she made him a large bandage and strapped it in place on top of his wound so he could lie on his stomach, in a more natural position. She wanted to check on his wound every other minute, but restricted herself to tend to it once a day and once a night, when fireflies inhabited the plains, all like living candles.
On the third day after he had gained the wound, he demanded to move.
“But you haven’t even begun to heal!” Faeyl instantly protested. “I won’t let you.”
“I just want to walk to the trees over there,” Fælwiix said, and gestured with his head to the copse twenty paces away.
“Oh,” she noised. “But you could still tear open your wound if you try to walk right now, just wait a few more days.”
Fælwiix squinted tiredly. “I don’t want to lay around in my own shit—I don’t even know why I’m arguing with you.” He stood, slightly wobbly, and turned to walk to the trees. Faeyl was right; his wound had barely sealed, and anything above a walk could tear the tenuous flesh apart. If he still had his armor on, the strain might do the same. The stitches would hold it together, but blood would seep through again if he was not careful. He hated the feeling of his wound—the pain was bearable, but the odd sensation of his cleft muscles made him phobic.
The army, which had taken residence around him, watched expectantly as he moved. He didn’t like it, the way the dozens of antherans were staring at him; he just wanted to relieve his gut. “Exercise yourselves!” he demanded. “You at least need to stay healthy.”
They grumbled some sort of consent and loped off, probably to mock-fight each other or roll around in their armor. It was good enough for Fælwiix, so he went into the woods. When he came out again, he was met with Ta`vik who walked in stride with him as he returned to his resting place. His wound grated as he came back to his spot.
“Do you believe that you are healing well, Commander?”
Fælwiix ground his teeth as his head ached. “Considering that I’m walking right now, I would say yes.” He slowly lowered himself onto the ground. “Keep the army active. Once I’m healed, we will go west.”
“You have decided on a direction, then?”
“Yes,” the Commander answered with a tired sigh. “The advantages seem to outweigh those of going east. Faeyl can return home more easily as well.”
Faeyl, who had been observing from a small distance, stepped forward and broke them up. “Stop bothering him with questions, Ta`vik. He needs to sleep, undisturbed.”
The second-in-command just gave them both an expressionless look before walking off, and Fælwiix growled something in a low voice before resting his head on his paws, closing his eyes.
Faeyl cradled Innocence as she stood nearby the antheran. When the two Wolverines had mentioned her going home, she realized that she didn’t want to return. She did not want to follow the army all the way to war, but exploring another country appealed to her more than going back home.
Suddenly, the Commander’s voice called out. “Faeyl,” he said, “what does your book say about the Wolverines?” He had rested his head on his two front paws, and from there he gave her an intent look. Faeyl could almost see lands of snow and glaciers reflected in those yellow eyes, simply because his mind was dwelling on his home.
She smiled appreciatively. “Let me just look,” she said, going for her book, holding Innocence in one arm as she rummaged for the object. Once she had the tome, she sat cross-legged next to Fælwiix, and after kissing and hugging Innocence, she went to reading. “’Chapter five, The Gatekeepers of the North,’” she read out loud pointing at the words to Innocence as she spoke them. “’The Wolverines are fierce, merciless hunters that reside in the north of Yindyr. They are known to be the best hunters on land, bested only by Earth Dragons, packs of Wolves and certain unique beasts, such as giant Stag Beetles.’ Have you ever heard of a giant Stag Beetle?” Faeyl asked the Commander.
He gave a negative gesture. “Does it say why we are called The Gatekeepers?”
“I’ll look,” Faeyl answered and flipped through the pages, searching for the key word, to find nothing. “It doesn’t–” She looked up to see that Fælwiix had closed his eyes and was breathing calmly. Closing her book, she stood up slowly and left the Wolverine alone, having a mind to follow his example. She had a small tent for shelter, just large enough to fit her furs in for a bed, so she crawled within the cloth canopy and laid down. She placed Innocence in her carrier, which took up all the comfortable space. Her infant daughter would probably fuss for something just as she started to relax, but she had already gotten used to an erratic schedule.
As she snugged into her furs, she suddenly thought to Kavini, and wished that he was alive, with her. She always wished for that, but at that moment, she particularly wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her close so she could feel safe and comfortable, fulfilled. She clamped her eyes shut and tried to remember the sensation of his hands, the sound of his voice.
Despite that effort, when she fell into a warm and cozy sleep, she dreamed not of Kavini, but of Ibex walking the halls of Fydal, all of them testing the rugged Arium armor that they had been given.
*
Eybexus stood slowly, feeling the weight of the armor on his whole form. He liked it.
He was in the large Armory of Fydal, a spacious underground place outfitted with a store of arms and armor, ready to be sold to the next well-informed customer who came to the Tulmalin. Several other Ibex were with him, testing the movement allowed by the plates of steel covering their backs and the chain-mail guarding their underbellies.
Forgemaster Hroww and Oremaster Stonehelm stood near Eybexus, waiting for his response concerning the first model they had concocted for him.
Hroww droned on about the aspects of the armor as the Ibex General mostly ignored him. “We have added to your most deadly aspect—your horns—so that they will prove more lethal than they were just a few small moments ago. You may have to be careful, as with any weapon, but owing to the fact that the blades are literally attached to you, I would advise extreme caution.”
The General nodded. “You have definitely improved from last time,” the old goat complimented, or insulted. It was hard even for him to tell the difference. “If I could just test these horn-attachments, I could say whether I want you to keep forging this type of armor or not.”
Hroww smiled confidently. “Such a thing could easily be arranged,” he assured, and then went to some Tulmalin smiths that were nearby. He spoke to them in their alien tongue, and they left the Armory quickly.
Minutes later, Eybexus found himself dashing his horns and body against a wooden pillar, finding his armor to be invincible and the blades running the length of his horns to be sharp as a razor. The pillar was battered and gashed satisfactorily.
“Your turn,” he told one of his companions, which happened to be Aarøj.
His good friend attacked the beam uncertainly at first, but then gained ferocity and effectiveness. Afterwards, Iakiwir approached the wooden post formally, before he tore into it maniacally.
When his two companions were finished, snorting and panting from exertion, Eybexus smiled in an odd, caprine way. “You both agree that this is phenomenal?”
Iakiwir nearly nodded in acknowledgment, but stopped himself because he was so near to Eybexus. He would have to remember that his horns were dangerous to even touch. “Yes, I would say that it is.” Aarøj noised his agreement.
“Then it’s decided,” Eybexus confirmed, and looked to Hroww. “You can follow this model for all of the Ibex. And before you timidly ask for payment, I saw what you got out of Fælwiix. Three-thousand of my Ibex will stay with you until you finish armoring them, and a thousand will remain nearby afterwards, until I command them to join me. I’ll leave them in the capable command of Diirowi, one of my subordinates. No need to worry that I’ll call upon them immediately. I’ll likely not need them for a while, and you can rely on my impeccable timing.” Eybexus gave Hroww little room to bargain, and his husky voice assured no leniency. A stupid tactic to take when Hroww held all of the bargaining power, but Eybexus’ confidence and overbearing personality could take him far, even when he was climbing in the dark, as it were.
“That would be a most . . . acceptable payment,” Hroww stated, more than content with the number of warriors promised to him.
The General nodded freely, taking no precautions. “Good. Now, I need you and your smiths to work harder than ever before. I want a thousand Ibex armored in as few days as humanly possible.”
“Ah,” Hroww mused, “but you neglect; we are not human—we are Tulmalin. Give us twenty days.”
*
On the first of Mid Summer, fifteen days after Fælwiix had gained his injury, he was unstoppable. He was going to move south, and nothing would leash or hold him away from that direction.
The sun rose on the horizon, as determined as he was, and like a hammer, it beat down on the army. The grass seemed to wither under the sudden heat, though it maintained its verdancy in defiance.
Fælwiix had already woken and rallied the entire army (except for the scouts) and he was ordering them about as belligerently as he had before his wound. It was obviously taxing him, though, and he was panting from the heat just as much as his warriors were. He had already donned his armor, and Ta`vik had snapped the pins in place for him
“We will make three columns: a strong center, and two equal flanks,” the Wolverine leader instructed. “Each column will be divided into three segments along its length. Segments will keep their own width in distance from the next segment. Columns will be divided from each other by the most advantageous routes—preferably those routes which will keep us concealed from each other and the enemy, but will not prevent us from communicating by sound. In this way, if one column or segment is attacked, the others will have mobility and the advantage of stealth. I will lead the central column, Ta`vik will take the eastern flank, and Ursik will take the western.” The last antheran to be named leapt up and started screaming out orders, perhaps more impatient than Fælwiix to get moving.
Once the formations were organized, Fælwiix called on the march, and they moved slowly south. Faeyl walked beside the Commander the whole while, refusing to leave his side to ride on Ta`vik, and turning down his offer to carry her. Because of her stubbornness, she had to climb down rocky hillsides and push through thickets of brush by foot. She was infinitely grateful for Innocence’s improved carrier which protected the baby like a steel shield.
When it came to crossing streams, Faeyl climbed down the banks and sloshed through them rather than step on the surface stones across. It made her perfectly wet from the thighs down, but it was harder to slip and fall that way. The Wolverines seemed to enjoy the cool water, and tramped right through beside Faeyl, which made her even more wet and muddy than before.
By the evening, when the sun was like a ruby jewel in the west and the whole sky was ablaze, the Wolverines stopped for the day and collapsed where they stood. It hadn’t been a very long trek—meaning thirty or more miles—but the heat from the day had sapped them. Faeyl’s feet ached, and she was stiff and tired all over. Both her and several Wolverines complained about parasites—her because she had to pick them off herself, and they because they could not. They had not dealt with parasites in the north, and their fur did not allow for the ticks or leeches to be removed.
Fælwiix was in terrible condition from the march, and Faeyl had him command one of the Wolverines to unpin his armor. Ta`vik wasn’t there, as the columns and segments that the Commander had organized slept away from each other.
Faeyl peeked under the bandage she had made for him as he laid sleepily on his side. The wound seemed to have readily healed shut, but the skin and fur around it seemed to have taken a foul path. Except for where she had cauterized the gash, the area surrounding the wound had . . . decayed. The fur had withered and was shedding off from dry, dying skin tissue.
Faeyl froze with a hand tangled in a clump of molted fur. W-What happened? Is he getting an infection? she thought, and the answer came suddenly and grimly. Poison.
Some form of degenerating toxin had been on the blade that had pierced Fælwiix, and it was beginning to eat into his flesh.
She let go of his fur, and it tumbled to the ground lazily. “Fælwiix,” she said slowly, trying to rein in her shaking voice. “Call Ta`vik. I need him here.”
“Why?” he asked tiredly, already resting his head on his paws.
“Please, he can return to his column or whatever you call it after I talk to him,” Faeyl said more suggestively so he wouldn’t feel as if she were ordering him around.
Fælwiix growled, then lifted his head to command a Wolverine nearby. The warrior scampered off to the east, to where Ta`vik’s column rested. In a few moments, the warrior returned, with the second-in-command by his side. Faeyl waved to him, and the technical antheran trotted up to her.
“What did you need me for, Fælwiix?” he asked.
The Commander nodded Faeyl’s way. “She’s the one who wanted you,” he accused.
Ta`vik’s eyes went to her. “What do you need?”
She pointed to Fælwiix’s wound. “Come look,” she said. When Ta`vik saw the festering wound, he recoiled. “It’s poison,” Faeyl explained, and Ta`vik shivered again. “If it keeps eating at him like this, he will die.” And I thought that I had saved him. She wanted to cry from frustration and fear, but like the first time Fælwiix was wounded, she was to shocked too spill tears.
Ta`vik looked anxiously at his Commander. “Fælwiix, you are poisoned; what do you plan to do?” He was trying to evaluate the situation, and consulting his trusted superior was all he could think of doing at that moment. His power as third-in-command and then as second-in-command had always been following previous orders or keeping the army active while his superior was unable to. Now he had to consider taking drastic action and going against orders.
Fælwiix was almost asleep, exhaustion having conquered him. “Fuck the poison,” he said quietly, shifting onto his stomach and hiding his wound from view. “We will start west tomorrow.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
Ta`vik had a directionless, almost fearful light in his eyes. What could he do?
He heard Faeyl say something to him, but his ears only gave heed to his own arguing thoughts. He had to consider alternatives, and then look at the situation and the possibilities from all angles. If Fælwiix died, it had always been the plan that Bæri`rr would continue the mission afterwards, but Bæri`rr was dead, so the responsibility fell to him, Ta`vik. I don’t think that I can do it. He began to pace in irregular circles, and he vaguely understood that Faeyl was following him closely, speaking to him, trying to get an idea in his head. He glanced at Fælwiix who slept with deceiving peacefulness in the coming twilight. Fireflies started up again in the dark, sometimes flashing right by Fælwiix’s closed eyes. Looking to the moons that were just visible in the eastern horizon and swiftly disappearing, Ta`vik felt that he had a cycle of time he had to beat.
I can’t do it.
“TA`VIK!” Faeyl yelled, finally gaining his attention. “Fælwiix is dying! What are you going to do about it!?” Her frustration had set in, and the second-in-command was the perfect object to throw it at.
“What?” Ta`vik questioned, somewhat bewildered. In his mind she had just come up to him and screamed in his ear. “I-I need to think,” he stuttered, and then gave her a wild look. He trotted off into the darkening landscape. All of the other Wolverines were asleep or patrolling the encampments, and all of them were oblivious for the moment of what was happening to their Commander.
Faeyl gave up on him and started racing thoughts through her own mind. She called up the image of the wound in her mind. The poison was acting like the bite of a brown recluse, but apparently it was a delayed poison, as it had taken two weeks to activate. If it kept going as it was, it would rot a hole into the Commander, killing him by infection or by destroying vital organs.
She then thought to the cauterized section of the wound, which was perfectly healed and healthy. So burning the poison stopped it? If I had just burned the rest of the wound, he wouldn’t be close to death right now?
She made her way back to Fælwiix and sat against him, holding him around his neck and burying her face in his fur. “I’m sorry . . . I couldn’t save you,” she said quietly into his fur, but he was asleep and didn’t hear. Faeyl herself fell into slumber with the Commander, after many worried moments of restlessness.
It was a few hours later when Ta`vik came back, unsure but determined. He pawed at Faeyl, who had splayed out in sleep against Fælwiix, with Innocence’s carrier held close by.
“What is it?” she asked groggily, clumsily shifting herself.
Ta`vik’s eyes gleamed in the dark at her. “I need an idea,” he said. He had been pacing all night, and had decided on an action, though he didn’t know in which direction to turn yet.
“An idea?” Faeyl was beginning to wake up. “Why? For what?”
Ta`vik ignored the questions. “Do you know of any great Healers?”
Her mind wasn’t working properly at that moment, so she blinked and answered with a shake of the head.
“Any great mages? Anyone?” He was gaining a panicked tone to his voice. After another negative answer, he became frustrated and dug his claws into the ground. “Faeyl, you have to help me, I’m clueless and in the dark. If you want Fælwiix to live you have to think. Hard.”
She put a finger to her chin thoughtfully, and then moved to tap her temple in concentration. “Umm . . . I think . . .”
It was difficult for her at that hour in the night, but Ta`vik was unforgiving and wanted her to vomit up a solution. “Harder! Think harder, damn it!”
Fælwiix groaned in his sleep at the sudden outburst, telling Ta`vik to shut up, but after that, he rolled back into slumber.
Faeyl frantically listed what she knew that could sate Ta`vik’s question. “There are a lot of mages in Amarnthra . . . Dakrynians are known to have good Healers and herbs . . . I think that the Ykarri have Magic, but they live underwater . . .” Suddenly the answer exploded in her head. “The Monks of Gelsing.”
“The who?” Ta`vik questioned fiercely, thinking that she may have stumbled on something.
Faeyl stood shakily from inspiration. “There are legendary Monks who study Magic and its good properties. They are said to be the most skilled mages and Healers in the world. That’s all I have, Ta`vik. Other than that, I’m out of ideas.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“Somewhere in the mountains of Gelsing.”
“Too vague. Look at your map, quickly, I need to know where to go by the morning.”
Faeyl found her pack in the grass nearby and tore through it, locating the map and quickly unfolding it. She did it in almost total darkness and she realized that a light was needed to study the map. She found her Emberstones and a candle and went to work igniting both. Letting the fiery stones burn out, she took the candle and map and had Ta`vik look at the parchment with her.
“This,” she said, “is Gelsing, and these are the mountains that run down its western side. Wait, there’s a marker here,” she pointed to a small red star that was common all over the map for showing the location of towns and other civilized places. It read as The Monastery. “I think that’s where they are. They’re supposed to be secluded, and they worship The Creator along with their studies.” She believed in The Creator herself—something had to have made the universe and everything in it—but she prayed to Mount Caldkere because she had been raised to do so, and she figured that The Creator was too busy with greater things than to answer her prayers.
“East then,” Ta`vik said with finality. “We will go east and follow the landmarks to The Monastery.” The last word came out strange on his tongue because he had never said it until that moment.
“Will Fælwiix be upset?” Faeyl questioned. “He said that he wanted to go west.”
Ta`vik suddenly became powerful in his bearing. “He will have to make peace with it,” he answered, “because I am taking command until he is healed.” IF he is healed, he thought, becoming anxious again.
He would have to learn to be confident; many things depended on him.
On the morning of the second of Mid Summer, it was mainly overcast, but thankfully that meant that it was also cool. Fælwiix was stony and as determined as the day before. He was also in a foul mood.
Faeyl managed to avoid his angry aura by standing a distance away from him, just as Ta`vik had commanded her earlier that morning. He himself went to confront Fælwiix as the army was picking itself up and moving around to prepare for the trek.
“Ta`vik, what in Creation—what in Kal Hallavik—are you doing here?” the antheran asked his second-in-command. “You have a responsibility; I thought you were better than to ignore it.”
Ta`vik remained stoic, despite this remark. “I do have a responsibility, but commanding the eastern column is not it. I have to take command Fælwiix. Utter command.”
The Commander’s whiskers twitched. “Are you revolting against me?”
Ta`vik sighed with a growl. “No; you are poisoned and may soon be unable to command the army to your full extent. It would be better if I take over now, rather than after you are disabled.”
“Damn you, I’m fine!” Fælwiix shouted, though he was anything but all right.
“I can not allow you to push yourself to death. You have to be healed before we can continue. I will take command for the time.”
“I order you to remain as second-in-command,” Fælwiix hissed in a low voice.
“No.”
Fælwiix growled dangerously and batted Ta`vik in the head, though the latter thankfully had his armor and helmet on. “Get it into your head that I’m still in command here. I won’t take any more insolence from you. Go to the eastern column, now!”
“I will not. You need to be healed. In the east there are–”
“We will go west. And I said GO!”
Ta`vik remained quiet after that. The Commander was too stubborn at times, and now it was endangering Fælwiix’s very life. In a moment it would endanger Ta`vik’s life as well.
Fælwiix tensed with anger. Ta`vik was being utterly stony and irrational. He felt just fine, considering the wound he had just healed from. He didn’t believe that there was any poison taking over his body; he was beginning to think that Ta`vik had only said so to gain power. Well, Fælwiix wouldn’t give it to him.
Lunging at his subordinate, Fælwiix attacked Ta`vik fiercely, scratching and biting. He didn’t intend to kill him or even injure the other Wolverine; he just wanted to knock him into submission. But he wasn’t wearing armor, giving Ta`vik the advantage. The second-in-command had no choice but to beat Fælwiix back, so Ta`vik leapt up, pounded him on the brow and pinned him to the ground. The Commander was vanquished only because of his debilitating wound, so the strike on the head rendered him unconscious.
As he went limp on the ground, Ta`vik looked on him with shock. I just killed Fælwiix, he panicked, though he was obviously misinterpreting Fælwiix’s condition.
Faeyl had been screaming out for them to stop their tussle the whole time, but only now did she run to the Commander’s side. “Why did you provoke him?!” Faeyl demanded of Ta`vik, forgetting how unforgiving Fælwiix had been, the cause of the fight.
He ignored her question. “Did I kill him?” he asked.
“No, thank The Mountain, but why did you knock him out like that?”
“I-I had to,” he answered, just as Wolverines were gathering around to see what had gone down.
“Have you replaced the Commander?” one of them asked nervously, keeping a wary eye on Ta`vik.
“No! I’m only taking over until he is healed,” Ta`vik tried to explain.
“It doesn’t look like you helped him in that,” another observed.
Ta`vik sighed but didn’t try to defend himself any further. “Spread the word through the army that Fælwiix is disabled for the time being. I will be the Commander until he is ready to lead again. We will turn east instead of west. Maintain the columns, and have Ha`ka take the eastern column in my place.” He then looked to Fælwiix and cringed. “Overturn Fælwiix’s armor and lay him in it; we will have to drag him along.”
Somehow the Wolverines managed that last commandment; two of them flanked him and pinned short chains from their armor to his. Afterwards, they could drag him over the landscape without too much difficulty.
When Ta`vik called the march, the columns slowly diverted east and then picked up speed. The new Commander demanded that they move as swiftly as possible.
As they began their trek, Ta`vik looked to Faeyl, the woman of which walked beside him. “Get on the saddle, quickly.”
That day went by both quickly and slowly. The heat of the sun made the path torturous and crawling, but the anxiety of saving Fælwiix made it seem that their was no time left at all and what little there was flitted by swiftly. Early rising cicadas droned in the heat, adding to the fatal sensation in the air.
In the middle of the day, Fælwiix woke from his unconscious state that had been wrought by Ta`vik’s pounding. He wanted to get up and out of his steel stretcher, but he was too exhausted from the heat and his wound. That worried Faeyl and the new Commander even further. The poison must have infiltrated even deeper into him.
“Faeyl,” Ta`vik said, “how many days do you estimate for us to get to the Monks?”
“Let me think,” she answered, and then calculated by comparing distances on her map. “Two weeks?”
He growled. “That is too long,” he muttered hopelessly. “Too long.”
Almost two weeks passed, but the Wolverines were slower than Faeyl had hoped, and they fell behind in her optimistic calculations. They were nearing the south-eastern border of Hargirm, the line that divided it from the country of Steshour.
Fælwiix recovered slightly the day after Ta`vik had stolen command. He walked beside his warriors instead of being dragged along by them, though his various pieces of armor were carried for him. His mood was just as decayed as ever, but the fact that he hadn’t snatched command back from Ta`vik showed that his grimaces and glares were all he had strength for. He was snappish, as explosive and unpredictable as a volcano, and the fallout could land on anyone. But his eruptions became weaker with each day, and the Wolverines were slowed by him, as he needed long midday rests, and the army stopped earlier in the evenings than before (regardless of what he shouted at them to do).
As they traveled, the hills became craggier and there were pillar-like mountains clustered together, rising thousands of feet above the hills and forest. Trees clung to the sides of those awing formations, and Faeyl thought that she saw a house on the top of one of those pillars. It had become more verdant as they descended south and east, and there was more forest as well, along with stifling humidity. The outline of the Eastern Mountain chain could be seen hazy and faint on the horizon, but the outline was of sloping, forested mountains, not columns like the landscape that the Wolverines were in currently.
I can hardly believe it, Faeyl thought to herself as she rested with Fælwiix on a green slope. I never would have thought that I would travel across the three major mountain chains of Vaskil—and in one journey! Well, I suppose that I didn’t actually see the Western Mountains. I went under them rather than over. She could still vividly recall the image of the Paths of the Tulmalin, and the subterranean bridge that had spanned an abyss for hundreds of miles.
It was midday, and Fælwiix was resting fitfully in the burning sun. Thankfully there was an overall haze in the sky, which prevented the solar body from roasting them as much as it would like. They were steamed instead, which made Faeyl worry for Fælwiix’s immediate health as well as the well being of all the Wolverines. They weren’t created to go further south than central Hargirm, and they had little of the natural ability to shed fur for summer. They were all close to having a heatstroke, and they needed the rest as much as their wounded Commander.
Only four Wolverines were actually within close proximity of Fælwiix. The debilitated Commander had demanded to be left alone on a secluded hill, but he couldn’t prevent Faeyl from coming, or Ta`vik from giving him a few sentinels. Thus, the army was in the near distance to the north, spread out and half hidden within the craggy hills, partially in the shadowy embrace of the forests and pillar-mountains. Fælwiix and Faeyl were in a less forested patch of land, though lines and swaths of trees could be seen in the distance in almost every direction. The grasses were tall, and more than one stream could be heard nearby.
Faeyl enjoyed the beauty of the place, but beyond that, she loathed it. Except for at night, she was coated in her own sweat and plastered in dirt and plant material. Every morning and evening she would strip her supple armor and clothes off to check herself for Cursed parasites, which had been a supplementary activity up until that point. Sometimes she had to bathe in streams twice a day, just to remove any caked dirt from herself. Her clothes became rougher with every scrubbing she gave them at gloam. She was grateful that every time she checked Innocence, the baby was clean.
Fælwiix watched Faeyl play with Innocence that day through squinted eyes. He was so tired, unnaturally exhausted. He had accepted that he was poisoned, or infected, as a fact, and had given up the false notion that Ta`vik was going rebel on him. Seeing that he was still alive, he could confirm that the temporary Commander was honest.
I shouldn’t have mistrusted him. I have to trust my own second-in-command. If I, the Commander don’t have confidence in my troops, this army will fall apart before it ever gets to Mithonstorng. Fælwiix sleepily closed his eyes to the sight of Faeyl and his four alertly resting warriors. His mind went blank with slumber.
It seemed to be only an instant later, but when he opened his eyes again, Faeyl was gone, and the Wolverine sentinels were dead.
Chapter XXXVIII
Murk
25th of Early Summer, 376, 5th Era – Murk, Southwestern Hargirm
It took two days of hard travel after Pyka returned from his elongated scouting mission, but the magpie got them through the terrain rather quickly, considering the limitations of his companions. By late morning on the twenty-fifth, Pyka renounced his duty as trail-guide and took a nap in a basket on the plow-horse. It didn’t matter; the bird had delivered them to a high, narrow canyon which allegedly went directly into the vale of Murk. A narrow and ancient path lined both sides of the gorge’s walls, halfway up on the sheer faces and constantly interchanging with each other via stone bridges. Because of those bridges, the company believed that Pyka had led them to a ruin, though it was anyone’s guess whether it was the right one. There couldn’t be that many ruins lying about in those particular mountains.
Taking twists and turns through the slender canyon which could be no more than forty feet at its widest, Leyfian looked down and saw a rushing stream far below, then looked up to see a thin, jagged sliver of sunlight far above. It was a warm day, even in the canyon, which was only half-lit, and a passing breeze did nothing to cool her. Not that she minded; half her blood was of Dakrynian origins, and she clearly leaned towards those traits, so she preferred heat to cold.
Mithourn led the way as was his habit, while she trailed closely behind with the others at her tail. Halting Dune when the High Captain stopped his own horse, Leyfian looked up and was greeted with a beautiful sight. The canyon opened wide to reveal the vale of Murk far below them, with the ringing mountains and cliffs all around and high above. Everything seemed to shimmer from the golden sunlight; both trees in bloom and rocky faces striated with various dark minerals, and howling waterfalls with glistening ponds or lakes. The group came onto a stone outcrop which jutted from the canyon, giving them a full view of the hidden place. A set of roughly hewn stone steps led off to the side, away from the fissure and down a sheer, forested slope. With two-thousand or more feet to descend to the floor of the verdant basin, Mithourn opted to dismount and start the steep trek by foot, leading Thistle carefully by the reins. After a moment, Leyfian came off of the saddle and followed after him, giving enough room between them so that he would have a second of warning if Dune tumbled down after him. The others followed her example and were all soon climbing down the twisting steps, looking around in silent appreciation of the beautiful landscape.
Little stone stands held glowing golden rocks at their tops, which acted as lanterns during the night. They were called Sunstones, if Leyfian remembered correctly, a name that she recalled from a book about the Tulmalin. Could this be another one of their ancient monuments? Mawing had been unclear about what he knew of the ruin when he told her to search it out. Perhaps he didn’t know much about it, other than the important fact that no one could point out its date of creation.
The forest had grown around the narrow and sheer path, bringing flora up into the cracks between the steps. Hanfodel flowers peeked around the edges of the stairs with poppies and daffodils, and mosses clung to the stones possessively. A great Amber-Leaf reared up in front of her, just before the path took a turn around the sentinel. The woods thickened around her until she couldn’t tell how close they were to the floor of the basin because of the overhead foliage. It wasn’t until a good four hours when they reached the bottom and were blocked by a boggy lake of slimy waters. Multiple waterfalls emptied into the large lake, but it seemed that none of them helped in clearing its surface from Slimeweed.
Remounting their horses, the companions paused for a moment to study their objective and how to get to it.
The whole body of water was scattered with small islets of forest, just like the Wet Timberland, but with more trees. A cracked and overgrown trail led around the lake, frequently blocked with fallen trees which had to be leapt over on horseback, so they followed it around the water, trying to find Murk past all of the clustered islands and groves of trees.
After an hour or so of quiet travel, they came near to the far side of the waters, and found an irregular path of muddy islets and stones that led towards the center of the lake, where they could see Murk, half-concealed by the trees.
Mithourn stopped at the edge of the shore and looked to Leyfian. Fingering her reins uneasily, a thought came into her head. Didn’t father mention something about sentinels, or guardians? It was an odd thing to think of moments before entering the ruin, but she felt suddenly unsafe, and that was the thought that came with her fear. Nodding to Mithourn and nudging Dune into a walk, she went with him over the first stepping stones and islets, the others coming behind with disquiet equal to hers. Marram looked physically ill as he had upon first entering the Wet Timberland. Kanni stood in her saddle, trying to sense something tenuous in the air, possibly something Magical, and Gelvir likewise looked about and breathed quietly so as to hear small noises. The magpies just preened themselves and fluttered their wings because of too much inaction.
A heavy breeze brought a fertile smell of warm slime and the sound of trilling birds. A coyote howled in the distance.
The first structures of Murk to be passed were those same pillars of stone as from before, inscribed with those same symbols and squiggles. Leyfian quickly discarded her idea about Murk being of Tulmalin make; their runes were geometric and strict, not flowing and directionless. Unless they used to have more than one dialect . . .
Slogging across half a mile of wandering paths, they came to the main domes of the ruin, three mounds of stone that were topped with crowning pillars and surrounded by decayed statues and monuments. Everything was too eroded, decayed and covered in moss or Slimeweed to discern what it once had been. Leyfian was surprised that the stones even existed anymore, after being surrounded by such an erosive environment for so long. Perhaps Magic had warded off decay.
Leyfian dismounted and tied Dune to a nearby tree, which had grown at an odd angle. Actually, it looked more as if it had been stomped on and twisted in an unnatural direction, but it had healed since then. She just ignored the odd plant and rummaged through her bags to get parchment and charcoal. “Kanni, Gelvir, can you both help me record anything that is in there?” she asked, gaining positive answers.
The mage produced a drawing pad with a finely made pencil, a rare amenity, and an expensive one. “I’ll warn you now; my lettering is terrible,” she said humorously, but it was the truth.
“I’m sure that you can’t mess up the symbols too much,” Leyfian assured, then headed towards the foremost of the domes. It had an open threshold to enter through, so she headed for that with her friends in tow.
Mithourn dismounted his mare and let her stand where she was, under the eye of Marram. “Let’s make this quick,” the High Captain pronounced. “I don’t want anything to happen to you like at Jelril,” he added gruffly.
That made Leyfian smile internally because he had shown concern for her in particular. “There’s no need to be afraid of that; I don’t want a disaster either, and I hope for us to be on our way to Thenmere before tonight. We might leave very soon, if there isn’t anything to be found.”
They left Marram to occupy himself while they entered the large, sunlit dome, coming into a two-story hall which was circular and had a balcony ringing it. A large hole in the center of the ceiling had been carven purposely to let in light from the outside, as had dozens of slits ringing the lower level of the dome. Kanni somehow managed to find a way to the inner balcony, where she looked down on everyone below and teased them for being like ants. Leyfian just shook her head at her friend’s foolishness and went to the center of the large chamber, where three stone pedestals stood. One was carven in the likeness of three snakes intertwined and facing the ground, another to look like a dozen doves all flying upwards and the third was an elk, with his glorious antlers held high. The tails of the snakes, beaks of the doves and antlers of the elk all were shaped perfectly to hold an object of some kind, but Leyfian couldn’t guess what. Each would have been a strange shape to be certain, but symmetrical in a way.
Being good at drawing, Leyfian took a sketch down to record the pedestals, to ask a more knowledgeable person about them later. There were engravings in the stone floor around the stands, so she wrote them down as well, squiggles, dots and all.
Surprisingly, she couldn’t find any more writing in the whole of the chamber, so she was forced to leave the main dome and call her companions out to investigate the next one. It was slimy, half caved and void of writings, pushing Leyfian onward to the third main building. There were plenty of inscriptions implanted on the stones in that chamber, if not as many as in Jelril, nor as complex. She set Kanni and Gelvir to work on those writings while she took Mithourn to search out the remainder of Murk for more. The rest of the ruin consisted of a gathering of small stone buildings, like houses built into domes and smashed together. Several of them truly did look crushed. She didn’t find anything of use in those structures, so she returned to where Gelvir and Kanni were to help in the arduous endeavor. Her two friends were still acting awkward around one another, an interesting dynamic to study while she simultaneously scribbled down the stone carvings. When the task proved more difficult than she had first thought, she placed paper and charcoal in Mithourn’s hands, giving him an expectant look before setting an example of how he should work.
After an hour or more of constant writing they accomplished the feat of writing down half the script in the small dome. Leyfian watched out of the corner of her eye as Kanni and Gelvir both unwittingly backed up closer to each other, both trying to move on to the next part of their sections. Without seeing each other, they somehow took a step at the same time, coming closer until–
Kanni squeaked when she collided with Gelvir, jumping away quickly with her heart racing for a second. He gave her a startled look, just as surprised as she was. Holding his gaze for even a moment was hard, so she looked off to the side and backed away a step or two. Throwing her writing utensils down onto a nearby stone, she walked out of the room, followed by the echoing noises from her tumbling papers and pencil. “I need a break,” she announced, ignoring her things. “just a few minutes and I’ll be back.”
Stalking out of the ruined building did no good for her temper, nor did stomping through the mud to the edge of the isle. How could she not face the man anymore? One misplaced kiss, and now she acted dizzily whenever he was around. Every time he came near her or said a word to her, she thought to that odd but entrancing kiss they had shared, and it made guilt course through her, as well as temptation. Why can’t I get him out of my head!? I love Ålund, not Gelvir. It’s just a passing fancy, one I need to resist until it passes. I’m just lonely, but I need to save myself for Ålund. What made her angry was that it was even a challenge to resist; she had thought that after marrying, she would be immune to temptation, but that was not so.
Throwing rocks into the lake helped the anger towards herself subdue and eventually fade away. She threw sticks and pebbles into a sort of inlet within the lake, a pool of water two-hundred feet across, encompassed by several forested islands. Ten or twenty rocks later, she noticed a large group of bubbles break the surface of the water towards the center of the inlet. Odd.
There aren’t pits of Singing Mud here, are there?
The lake had natural ebbs and flows alike to the waves of an ocean, but they were slight, meaning that the new crests washing onto the shore at her feet were overlarge and unnatural. She backed away from the muddy coast, and then took another step back as the ground made a slight tremor. The water sloshed wildly, followed by more erupting bubbles at the inlet’s center.
Oh fuck! Kanni thought, and then said it again out loud. “What is happening!?”
Marram had wandered into the main dome of Murk, after tying the horses up, of course. It wouldn’t do to have them wander away. It also would be unfortunate if one of them were to be eaten while he was off, but he was bored from waiting on the humans to finish their work. Tae and Pyka had insisted on coming because they felt a little uneasy for some reason. Likely just the air; Marram could hardly stand the muggy, wet smell of the bog, and he suspected that the magpies couldn’t, either.
He had picked up a discarded elk antler on his way in, and he fingered it as he entered the slime-ridden structure. Straightaway he noticed a snake on the floor of the dome, a diamond-striped water snake who was out of her element. Marram picked her up and hurled her in a direction, where she happened to land half-coiled around an odd pedestal fashioned to look like three snakes. She hissed but coiled defensively around the stand, staying put where she was. Pyka landed on a stand carved in the likeness of flying doves, spreading his wings to mock the serpent. Spotting something interesting on the ground, the boar placed his antler on the elk-pedestal, crouching to dust off a stone tile with his hands. Nothing after all.
It took a whole minute for him to realize that something was wrong. The floor was dancing with flowing scripts, squiggly characters that spiraled to the center of the room, where they disappeared at the stone that he had dusted off. They circled the room and kept reappearing at the outer edge of the chamber, crawling across the ground like black snakes who never touched the floor. Marram stepped on one, causing it to writhe underhoof, though it couldn’t escape his weight. Just holding the one symbol in place caused the rest behind it to be held up while the ones in front continued their way to the center of the room, soon leaving half the floor empty with the other half wriggling impatiently. Marram supposed that holding them in place was the only way to read anything without getting dizzy.
Pyka shifted on his pedestal in awe while Tae hopped about on the floor, pecking and piercing the squiggles with a vengeance—and for no particular reason. Marram took his hoof off the one character and allowed the flow to continue while he stepped over to Pyka. Taking the magpie in hand, he lifted the confused bird, and then placed him back on the pedestal. The frenzy of rushing scripts faded away when the magpie left contact with the pedestal, and returned when he perched on it again.
“Stay there,” he ordered the magpie, pointing instructively at the bird. “Don’t move.” He trotted quickly out of the dome to go tell Leyfian and the others of his discovery, since they seemed to be obsessed over the decrepit ruin. Maybe they could make sense of what he had found. Loping into one of the secondary domes, he found that it was the wrong one and went off to the other, finding who he wanted inside it. The fools were trying to write down the engraved script. Marram figured that if he couldn’t read it, there was no point in staying behind any longer, but humans could be odd at the best of times.
Leyfian instantly looked up from her parchment when he burst in on them. “What is it?” she asked.
“I just found something that might interest–” He was cut short when the ground trembled underneath them all. “What was that? And where’s Kanni?” The mage was nowhere within the room, which concerned him. She could be up to any sort of trouble, and knowing her, it would almost certainly take her close to a patch of Deathweed.
Gelvir seemed to sense Marram’s path of thinking and drew his broadsword. “She went outside just a minute ago. Come on,” he added, gesturing vaguely for any of them to follow him outside.
The ground shuddered a second time as Marram went after Gelvir, with Mithourn and Leyfian following close behind. They met Kanni just outside the threshold, bumping into her and canceling her previous flight.
The Highmage looked flustered and frightened as she pointed hysterically to the inlet behind her, which was seething in bubbles and unrest. “There’s something coming!” she warned in panicked tones.
“What in The Marsh have you done!?” Marram bellowed over the roar of the crashing waves.
There was no time for an answer because his worst nightmare was coming to life; the water was breaking open with a howl to reveal a creature rising from the depths, huge, seaweed-draped antlers the size of trees followed by the head of an enormous elk. The beast stood out of the lake, fifty feet high but still half-submerged in the water. With a monstrous bellow, he shook himself off of excess water, but couldn’t be rid of the slime and seaweed that stained his fur, hung from his body.
The companions were too entranced with the creature to flee or to think past keeping their balance on the shaking earth.
The elk stood straight and then stilled, sniffing the air. He opened his eyes slowly, revealing that they were green and glowing, like ethereal gemstones. Looking down on the minuscule beings on his shores, he snorted aggressively, water spraying from his nostrils. With a twitch of his withers, he pushed through the deep waters and trudged towards the shores, gaining height with each step, becoming taller than the surrounding trees.
He opened his mouth wide for a bellow that might easily shake the ruin apart. “YOU ARE NOT READY FOR IT.” His voice was a crackling thunderstorm, flying out of his mouth with torrents of air. He stomped onto the land of the isle. “LEAVE YOU FOOLS; THE WORLD IS NOT READY.” To support his words, he flung his antlers around viciously, showing that he would prevent them from finding what they wanted, whether it was by their choice or his.
At that point, Marram grabbed Kanni by the arm and tugged her around, pushing her away from the enormous stag. Shock had been replaced with fear. “We don’t want to push him the wrong way so let’s get out of here!” He didn’t need to tug her along for more than a second because she started running of her own accord, jumping over anything that was in her way. Gelvir trailed after them, but only after Leyfian was ahead of him with Mithourn. Leyfian had been about to negotiate with the beast to have him see reason, but Mithourn had given her no chance. He had done much the same maneuver as Marram had, but with more force because the madwoman was unwilling to go.
The green-eyed stag just watched them intently with his head held high, seeing for certain that they left.
Marram almost forgot about the magpies because of the panic, but there was no need to worry when they had already taken initiative and were flying about insanely, urging the others to move their fastest. The horses were pulling at their reins in an attempt to escape, even as their riders tried to assist in the effort. They and Marram weren’t calm again until the stag was a small figure watching them from a distance. The Guardian watched them flee at a fast trot across the lake islets until they were out of sight. They could hear the roar of the water as he steeped himself in it again, hiding until the next set of intruders appeared.
The Boar remained decidedly silent about his discovery in the main dome of Murk, just in case his meddling had something to do with the elk appearing. He didn’t want everyone’s eyes on him, blaming him, scorning him. Their trust for him was unimportant; what he cared was that they wouldn’t cause trouble for him in the future because of something he might have done to inconvenience them. If they didn’t ask about it, then it was their own fault.
Eventually, Leyfian spoke up and broke the silence, “Did anyone manage to keep their writings?” she asked. That gained negative gestures and grunts, which made her sigh gratingly. “Neither did I,” she admitted with a hopeless groan.
“One of us could go back after them,” Marram suggested, feeling that he might at least owe them that much.
She shook her head. “It’s not worth it; that monster could come out again, and be less friendly than the first time.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” the boar insisted. “I can be sneaky as a creeping vine when I want to,” he added, brushing at his black fur. He didn’t wait for objections but threw the plow-horse’s reins at Kanni and trotted off back to Murk.
“B-be careful, Marram,” Leyfian stammered, unsure of what to think. Kanni shouted something similar after him, with the addition of a threat if he didn’t come back.
It was a measure to repay them for his mess, and a challenge to confront his fear of The Marsh. He had been somewhat sane when first experiencing the sight of the stag with his comrades around him, but if he were to face the beast alone, when it would likely show no mercy at all . . . He shivered but continued without stopping, getting in and out with hardly an intervening moment to grab the items. There was a threatening rumble in the ground as he left, but the Guardian must have sensed his quick departure and decided to leave him alone. That just convinced him further that he had caused the beast to awaken in the first instance. He still didn’t tell anyone about it, though.
Leyfian held it in until nightfall, but by the time they were gathered around the campfire, out of the basin and miles away from Murk, she vented her frustration on no one in particular, though she had chosen to sit next to Mithourn. With her anger came a strong breeze which rustled the trees around them. “I’m sick of everything going wrong!” she burst out suddenly, slamming a branch down into the fire for emphasis. Sparks and hot air flew into her face, and she decided not to do it again. “First it was Jelril, then Darenhar, and now this-this elk! Will the trouble never end?” She had taken the first two in stride mainly because she had been too distracted with survival at those times to care about misfortune, but something less deadly stacked onto those was what finally made her grind her teeth. “What’s next?”
No one answered her, but her abdomen tightened suddenly, almost in response. I’m next, it seemed to say, as those tendrils dug through her and clenched like pincers. It went up to her stomach, making her want to gag, and down through her upper thighs.
A hand went onto her shoulder. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re in pain,” Mithourn noised his concern.
“It’s nothing,” she lied, just as the feeling subdued. She wanted to believe that it was nothing, so she didn’t tell him the truth. “I’m just ready for sleep.” That was honesty speaking there; the day had been an exciting and exhausting one, and she was a naturally sleepy woman, with a heart like hers. Orøs shone down on the forest, just a sliver, but inviting rest with its teal light.
Mithourn nodded, letting her go to roll up in her furs by the fire. She was too worried with her ailing body to notice that he soon laid down for slumber as well, but close by to her, with modest room between them.
In the early morning they all woke with the dawn and Dus`ridyian in the sky, (Kanni actually woke them when they threatened to sleep in late) and started forging the plans for the next part of their journey. Mithourn pulled the maps out for him and Leyfian to study while Kanni taught Marram how to cook eggs in a pan. Gelvir did little but watch the magpies who scrutinized the map, both birds trying to see if it really was the source of Mithourn’s knowledge on landmarks and landscapes. Leyfian had already agreed on a plan with Mithourn since Jaek, but the course of action still needed refining, now that they had reached it. Pyka and Tae would help them descend south to the shores of Oshyigar, where they would follow the coast—the Fatal Cliffshore—all the way to Thenmere, Hargirm’s main port and one of the largest along Oshyigar’s rim. From there Leyfian hoped to hire a ship and . . . Well, that would come later.
Starting the trek that very day, it took time to get anywhere in the rugged, trackless mountains, even with the magpies’ help. Without them it would have been all but impossible.
By the next day, the mountains began to grow smaller, until they were like tall hills that were only half-forested, and then gentle slopes that flattened almost entirely. The magpies took a break from their duties, as the ground-shackled could find their own way quite easily in the tame region. It was on the evening of that day when they happened upon the western reaches of the Fatal Cliffshore. Aptly named, the coast was a flat-topped plateau that rose out of the sea as a sheer wall of dark stone. It loomed over a mile above the ocean at several points, and remained at least a thousand feet high along its seven-hundred mile length. The plains at its crown were green but nearly treeless, allowing easy travel.
On the twenty-eighth, they followed the edge of the cliffs going east, making good distance along the flat biome. The waves crashed against the cliffs far below them, roaring with the titanic blows which could topple ships, while gulls and terns screeched high over the waters except when they dived for a fish, or searched for stranded oysters at low tide. Oshyigar’s waters extended south, east and west as far as any of the companions could see. Ferirgris to the south was over seven-hundred miles away.
Following the coast, they went along its curve northward and then the eventual turn back to the south, taking the better part of nine days to move around the natural bay. By the bright afternoon on the third of Mid Summer, they came onto a dirt road passing through cultivated fields, many of them being bean crops. Soon after, Thenmere came into sight, a giant metropolis of wood and stone, half of it sprawled on the ocean in the form of docks and ships, the other half located high above on the clifftops. It was a true giant among cities, (if somewhat smaller than a dwelling such as Hrimrin) housing half a million people, many of them foreigners from across Oshyigar. It was one of the largest cities of trade, controlling most of the goods that came from the south to the north and vice versa.
Before Leyfian and the others could enter the city, however, they had to pass through enormous vineyards, many of them walled off from random fools on the road. Southern Hargirm was known for good wine, and the most heavily walled of the vineyards had signs proclaiming famous establishments. Kanni sneaked a grape off of a vine that hung over a stone wall but spat it out and cringed.
“What happened?” Leyfian asked with laughter touching her voice. “You look like you swallowed a sour grape,” she added, remembering that the mage had said something similar to her a while back.
“Well, I did,” Kanni retorted and clicked her tongue in distaste.
Marram picked a whole bunch from an open field of grapes, right behind the back of a farmer who was hunched over for inspecting his crop. The boar stuffed the vine in his mouth, grapes and all, crunching noises soon emanating from his tusked mouth. “I don’t see what you’re complaining about; these taste just fine,” he said in amidst his chewing, completely unaware of the nearby fieldworkers who very well might overhear his feasting. They wouldn’t even have to understand the Helkrasic tongue to accuse him of thievery. Leyfian was relieved when he swallowed the last bits of grape and didn’t look to pluck any more. The magpies were thankfully taking a nap together and didn’t see the bounty around them.
Thenmere was without a barrier like Jaek, but it had a far better armed watch patrolling the streets and the main highways, and the men were uniformly outfitted with short-swords, pikes or shields, showing that Thenmere had taken Darenhar’s reign in better humor than many other settlements. Several of the fields and outlying hamlets had been burned, though, and other buildings at the edge of the city looked to have been broken into.
They entered the city from the west, using a limestone-brick road which was busy with carts and people afoot. Quickly, they were surrounded by the tall buildings of Thenmere, simple, squared buildings of gray limestone and dark hardwoods, with tiled roofs of clay that sloped dramatically. It was a fine-looking city, with diamond-shaped windows spotting every structure, the buildings built close together, or even melded into one. Most were several stories high, and they only got taller as the companions made their way to the center of the great city, a task that took time because of the size of Thenmere and the people crowding it. There was no specific trade district; instead, the whole city was a place of trade, with stalls standing in front of inns, warehouses selling their goods directly, shops intermingled with houses, houses turned into shops, large towers with multiple outlets of trade at every level. There was a saying in Thenmere, ‘one can find anything for sale in Thenmere, save contraband and slaves.’ That was not entirely true as dark parts of the city could easily hold such dealings, but they were illegal and removed if they were found.
The people of Thenmere wore a different fashion from the population in the north of Hargirm, as it was an almost subtropical climate, with heat hammering down on them for much of the year. Instead of dresses and tunics, both men and women wore plain robes which were held at the shoulder with a brooch of gold or silver. Many of the women had embroidery on their robes, geometric squares and lines running along the hems of their colorful garments. The men usually just wore a plain robe of dull color. Like many Hargirmians, the people of Thenmere had tanned skin, but even more deeply than in the northern reaches, and all had dark hair. Of course, intermingled with the locals were many, many foreign visitors of all skin and hair colors. But human visitors only made up a part of the tourists; Linsang, Boars, some Rove Beetles, a Dragon and her tamer, even a few Tulmalin with an Uqauli at their heels. Tulmalin were technically human, but something about them was . . . odd.
Outnumbering all but the humans were the rulers of the seas, and most importantly, Oshyigar. The Ykarri could be found on nearly every street, in groups, alone, slithering along or riding in the back of a wagon. Their three ruffled tails could be dazzling with the colors and patterns they displayed, especially from the females who were more vibrant in hues, having mixed corals manifesting on their scales. They were also more slender and graceful than the males, with four svelte arms that were more delicate than the opposite sex’s, if that were even possible. Ykarri had naturally spindly arms and fingers that looked more like bones than flesh. There were no hatchlings among the Ykarri, only a few young ones who were on the brink of adulthood. Ykarri didn’t develop their amphibious abilities until they were nearly full-grown, so they were shackled to the sea until their gills matured to siphon air from both the sea and the land.
Leyfian estimated that the Ykarri took about an eighth of the population in Thenmere’s upper half, which made her suspect that they made a larger portion of the population down at the docks. The amphibian creatures spoke in an incomprehensible language that minded Leyfian of popping bubbles and gravel shifting underwater. She had heard that they could speak to anyone through a special Telepathy that could translate to anyone’s mind, no matter the language they spoke. But then, people had claimed that musk ox in the mountains of Helkras had that ability, and who could believe that? It would have to be some sort of Enchantment that had been placed on the entire race of Ykarri to render such a powerful, innate gift. She didn’t believe that was possible, either.
But what about the Deadwights . . . ? She shivered and tried to forget about it. The thought reminded her too much of those odd sensations her body had been suffering, which had started at the wound she had gained from a Deadwight. Of sorts. She still couldn’t decided whether the thing had been one of them or not—it had acted too strangely.
Gelvir pointed out a quality lodge for them to stay in, taking Leyfian out of her dark brooding. “No,” she said, “we need to find something closer to the docks, if we can’t find a place on them.”
That led them south, to the edge of the Fatal Cliffshore, where Thenmere dived down a mile to the sea, wooden walkways and buildings clinging to the cliff-side and leading downwards to the docks on the ocean. They only needed to glance down at the sprawling mass of wood on the water to see that it was far too ramshackle and busy to safely reside there. They found an inn on the edge of the cliff, a seaside lookout in the form of a great stone tower, covered in vines and moss. It was an upscale place, with marble flooring, geode-ridden columns and polished wood, but it was worth the extra coin for its security. There were no single-bed rooms left, so they paid for two-bed rooms, one for the men and the other for the women. Marram assured them that he wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor, which left him in the men’s room with some bundled blankets for his use.
Servers carried there things up to their rooms while grooms cared for the horses with extreme diligence. Leyfian carried up her precious wooden box herself, stashing it under her bed before she enjoyed some fine wine that Kanni had ordered from the lodge. The others were there, though Mithourn seemed uninterested in talk or drink and didn’t presume to have any wine. Marram enjoyed the beverage well enough, downing a whole glass in one gulp and then pushing out the cup for Kanni to refill. Gelvir told a story about his niece’s cats, and an attack they had carried out on his brother. The Highmage cackled at the funny tale and followed it up with one of her own, a memory of how her brother had meticulously set up a trap for a prank, and accidentally fell into it himself.
The magpies sat on the sill of the room’s window, listening and laughing at humankind’s stupidity, framed by the sea behind them.
After an hour they all agreed that they could use a meal, at which the avians piped up to demand their due from Mithourn. It seemed that he would be trapped with them, searching for the exotic oddities that they wanted to try and eat. Given that they were in Thenmere, he had no excuse to say that rabbit tails and frog heads weren’t possible to find. They were; it would just take all day to locate them.
Leyfian decided in a moment of excitement to join him on the arduous search while the others found their way to a meal. She could find something with Mithourn.
With that, the companions went their various ways, and she found herself wandering through Thenmere on horseback with Mithourn, who actually left behind his precious pike and only took a broadsword. She didn’t know what had gotten into her head, but she had managed to get herself behind him on the saddle, holding onto him to stay in it. He had argued that he was a big man as it was, that Thistle didn’t need a second passenger, but she had replied that she was a small woman who hardly counted as a whole rider.
She didn’t quite slouch as they rode along, but she did not sit so straight as she had been the last couple of weeks. He was wearing armor, she knew, but she still wouldn’t press herself into his back. With the magpies flitting about their heads, they trotted around the hustling city, occasionally finding the items that the birds wanted, though only because Pyka or Tae had pointed it out to them. Mithourn bought a wooden box full of chocolate for Leyfian because he recalled that she liked the sweets. They were rare except in the deep south or in rich households that regularly had it imported. They weren’t inexpensive, even in such an active trade center as Thenmere. She relished a few, but saved most of them for other occasions. For some reason she thought that they might pair well with the wine.
It was when they were on foot and browsing some of the wares from a trinket merchant when she heaped up the courage she needed and approached a pair of Ykarri, a male and female. Might as well confirm the stories for true or false.
“Good day,” she said politely to the male. When he didn’t respond for looking at a raw fish in a fisher’s bucket, she took a step closer. “Do you understand me? I’ve always wanted to know if Ykarri can–”
“Yes, I hear you,” the male responded in such a powerful Telepathic voice that it echoed through her physical ears. His voice was deep, if serpentine and somewhat thin. “Is that all you wanted to know?”
Leyfian just blinked.
“Don’t be rude, Denvli,” the female rebuked her companion, also in a Telepathic voice instead of through their odd language. Perhaps she just wanted Leyfian to hear as well. “You have to get along with surface-dwellers.”
Denvli just picked up the fish and then threw it back into the bucket. “Surface-dwellers destroyed our cities, once. They killed my mother and sister. I have no intention of befriending them.” He slithered off, the female going after him.
“For an Emperor’s son, you don’t act very wisely. What would Araxes think if I told him of this . . .”
Leyfian just stood there for a moment, mouth agape. The myths had been true! She turned to Mithourn and began a choked sentence.
“I heard it all,” he said before she got a word out.
Now her eyes widened. The Ykarri must have had a kind of Diffuse Telepathic power that translated to all minds nearby. She would have to reconsider the stories about the musk ox in the north. “That’s amazing!”
He just took it all in stride, like the incurious grouch he was. However, he admitted that he had encountered the Ykarri before, and heard them speak at length, though not to him.
They walked alongside Thistle in the search for something to eat, eventually finding a roadside cook who offered roasted beans and grains wrapped in flatbread. They ate the delicious food at the edge of a small alleyway with the magpies resting on Thistle’s saddle, observing the coursing arteries of Thenmere, and each other. Leyfian tried to eat daintily, but she was afraid that her hunger was too powerful to overcome. She sincerely hoped that the food didn’t stick to her crooked teeth. As a precaution she rinsed her mouth out with water from a canteen and rubbed her teeth clean with her handkerchief.
It was at that moment, worrying about her appearance when it happened again. There was no hiding it that time, because she instantly reeled and gasped as the tendrils dug into her, going further down her legs, scuttling up her thorax, through her stomach, closer to her heart.
Mithourn steadied her by the shoulders with his two firm hands. “What happened?” was his question.
“It’s . . . it’s noth–” She cut off, closing her eyes for a moment to accept the pain of the truth. The rootlets tightened in her again, before fading away. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “It’s a strange feeling that keeps growing in me. The first time was in Jaek, the second near Murk, and this is the third time. It started where my wound from the . . . the Deadwight was.” She pointed to her lower abdomen, where her womb would be just underneath the surface.
Mithourn sighed gratingly, letting go of her when she regained her balance. “We’ll have to postpone the journey until we figure out what it is,” he announced, as if he were in charge. Well, he shared authority with her, since she didn’t want to do all of the leading.
“We don’t have to,” she said quickly. “I don’t think it will hurt me. Kanni can probably fix it.” She should have gone to her friend the first time she felt the ailment, but it had been a deniable sensation at that time.
“And if she can’t? There’s nothing on a ship or in Ferirgris that can help you; we’ll have to think of something else.”
Leyfian snarled. “I don’t want to delay anything more than I have to, so I won’t stop now. We’ll start the search tomorrow.”
“No we won’t,”
“Yes we will,”
He took a deep breath and gave her a frightening stare. “Is this about getting back home as quickly as possible?” She didn’t respond. “If it is, you need to start thinking straight. It was stupid to not tell me or anyone else about your problem, and it’s stupid to try putting it aside to make useless progress.”
“Are you calling me stupid?” she asked in offense, raising her voice a little.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” she challenged, knowing what it was, but wanting to hear it out of his mouth. With frustration, she looked up directly into his face, and he looked down into hers. It was just her anger taking precedence, but she found his face to be very annoying at that moment.
“The point is that you refuse to take precautions for your own safety.”
“Just worry about your duty, and I’ll worry about myself,” Leyfian knew that she was losing the argument—it had been lost from the start—but she didn’t want to admit it out loud, just like every Soul on Galithour.
The High Captain gripped his fists tightly. “My duty is to protect you, from others, and apparently from yourself.”
“I don’t recall anyone putting that responsibility on you,” she sniffed.
His eyes flared at that. “I put it on myself. Damn it, Leyfian, I’m arguing because I care about you,” he said in a low growl alike to a Wolf’s.
Those words made her mouth drop a little. All of the muscles that had tensed in her relaxed in an instant. You . . . care about me, she mused for a second, feeling her heart pound strongly for a change. It wasn’t a surprise that he cared, just that he had said it to her, that he had noised it at all. Finally, you show me something more.
“If you’re going to—What are you doing?” His words began as argumentative but broke off into perplexity.
Leyfian clasped her hands behind his neck and pulled him down a little. He seemed to understand what was happening, but didn’t resist, despite his previous fervor for disputation. She felt his hands go to her waist as they kissed for more than a moment. It wasn’t a ridiculous display of thrashing about and stifled moaning, but an almost contemplative contact of the lips. When she pulled away, he let go and looked at her like a half-tamed hound.
“We’re not going anywhere until we find out what’s happening to you,”
So that was why he hadn’t refused the kiss—he was just going to pick up the argument afterwards. She didn’t want to continue the fight after such a satisfying moment, but she wouldn’t concede, either. “We’ll talk about it after Kanni assesses the situation.”
As it turned out, the mage could find nothing wrong with Leyfian. She tried every type of probing Magic she knew on Leyfian in their room, but turned up with nothing. Mithourn watched the whole affair as Kanni hovered her hands over Leyfian’s abdomen, trying anything to sense what was beneath the flesh. Other then the magpies, the room was empty of anyone else, as Gelvir and Marram were still out in Thenmere, likely wandering on their own in the streets.
“I don’t . . .” Kanni trailed off, a dim aura glowing beneath her hands. “. . . feel anything.”
Mithourn exhaled deeply. “That doesn’t negate the fact that she has a problem.”
The mage gave him an irritable glance. “I didn’t say that it did. In fact, my inability to feel what is wrong worries me; we’ll need a better Healer before we can know what is happening to her.”
“Then we know what to do,” Mithourn said and stood tiredly.
Leyfian sat up on her bed, the place where Kanni had been studying her. “We can search tomorrow,” she advised, standing to get in between him and the door. “We all need sleep.”
“I’ve gone without sleep before, and this is important. It could get worse quicker than you think. Maybe by tomorrow morning I’ll have found someone. Kanni, tell Gelvir and Marram to search for Healers in the area when they get back.” For once, the mage just nodded without complaint, seeing his logic clearly.
Leyfian sighed, but let him go out into the early evening. The magpies were sleeping off their great feast of oddities on a nearby table, and were undisturbed when she approached them and stroked their feathers lightly. They really were adorable creatures, with their long tails, black and white feathers and ruby eyes. She looked out the latticed window towards the open sea, where several ships could be spotted on the horizon, or just letting off the docks. Seagulls flew in swarms around the docks, while a Dragon took flight high above them, going south towards Ferirgris, her home. Leyfian faintly saw a rider on the queen’s back, before they were too far off to detect.
She hoped that the journey to Ferirgris wasn’t delayed for too many days; she had promised Kelestil that she would be home in three months, and already half of that time had passed.
Kanni stayed in the room with her all night, as it was the mage’s room as well. Marram and Gelvir came and went, at the Highmage’s orders. The two women chatted together until night, talking about unimportant things like two sisters. Leyfian didn’t mention her and Mithourn’s kiss, and it seemed that Kanni was holding back as well, but she didn’t press the Helkrasic woman like she usually would, because she didn’t want to give away her own secret in return for Kanni’s.
When it was time for sleep, she dressed in her simple white gown and climbed tiredly under her blankets, relaxing on the Blessedly soft bed. She fell asleep to thoughts of Mithourn and Kelestil. I want to go home . . . but I wonder if I’ll ever return, or if I’ll be trapped away from it forever.
*
It wasn’t until early morning that Mithourn found a proper Healer. Magic was outlawed in Hargirm, as much as it could be, so true Healers were hard to come by. Thenmere was a busy enough city that many could get away with the practice, especially since there was no point or possibility to block foreigners from using the arcane field. With that as a fact, Mithourn found several Healers that he was pointed to by residents of the city, but most of them were weak in Magic, or only used herbs and tonics. Surprisingly, the only Healer that he thought could surpass Kanni was a man, the first male Healer he found in Thenmere, and the last, since he would look no further. Usually it was women who were drawn to the Healing Class and grew strong in it, but apparently Gedahl (the Healer) found the Class so interesting and appealing that he had devoted himself to it entirely. He was a Ferirgrisi man gone to live in Thenmere where there was always someone in need, and he was a reserved studious man in his middle years, with darkly tanned skin and graying black hair.
Dawn had just broke when Mithourn entered Gedahl’s sanctuary, a small house on the top level of a seven-story tower, accessed via a set of stairs on the outside of the stone building. It was a one-room affair crowded with shelves of books, tables and chairs, stacked with papers, bottles, vials and boxes full of herbs and odd fluids. A hammock hung from the ceiling, swaying a foot above the bookshelves with a small ladder leading up to it. Hand-drawn charts hung wherever there was space on the walls, the parchment depicting the human body, from the muscles and bones to the organs. A rack of metal tools stood in one corner, and Mithourn thought to leave, thinking that the woman who had informed him of Gedahl had been mistaken in saying that the Healer had Magic abilities. But that was the moment Gedahl stood from behind a stack of books, holding an adjustable monocle to his eye, something obviously of the Tulmalin’s make, with its intricate steel frame that could be twisted and morphed to alter the clarity. He wore the prescribed clothing of Thenmere; a robe held up with a brooch, though his was plain and somewhat worn.
The Ferirgrisi man looked to him. “What brings you here?” he questioned in a soft, contemplative voice. “Does something ail you? Or perhaps a friend needs help?”
Gedahl’s voice made Mithourn more exhausted than he had been a minute earlier. He could have fallen asleep standing where he was, but he shook the feeling off like a heavy, warm mantle. “A friend. Do you know Healing Magic very well? She needs someone who is above average.” He felt fully awake of a sudden, and his aching limbs were lightened unexpectedly.
Gedahl made a vague gesture to the air. “Do you feel less tired now? Are your feet less pained?” When Mithourn nodded hesitantly with a suspicious sidelong look, the Healer went on. “I just performed Healing on you. I don’t suspect that you need another demonstration.”
The High Captain didn’t; Kanni had always needed to touch the injured to Heal them. He had been told that only very skilled mages could Heal without touching, or to know what ailed a person without seeing or feeling it for themselves. Mithourn might have looked obviously tired, but that was no sure indication that his limbs had been in pain.
It wasn’t much later that Mithourn found himself leading an interested Gedahl through Thenmere all the way to the lodge. The Healer didn’t even speak of payment or fees; he just wanted to see what ailed Leyfian so terribly. He was certainly an intriguing man, just by his actions, and the way he bore himself.
When they arrived at the inn, Kanni opened the door for them, a panicked, shocked expression painted over her. “Leyfian just had a heart attack,” she broke out hoarsely.
“What!?” Mithourn shouted out despite himself. Just like that, and she was . . . !
“I managed to hold her through it, but she’s very weak. I think that she doesn’t have more than a day or two. Oh Creator, this is awful!” She ground her teeth and obviously restrained an onslaught of weeping.
He just looked at the ceiling in relief. Kanni had made him think that Leyfian was dead, if only for a second. Taking Gedahl by the shoulder, he urged the man into the room, where Leyfian laid on her bed, breathing shallowly in the sunlight. Kanni followed close behind, going to the opposite side of the bed as Gedahl, taking Leyfian’s hand in one of her own and watching both her friend and the newcomer closely.
The deeply tanned man leaned over Leyfian carefully, holding a hand above her and drawing it over her body, scanning her. “Tell me everything you know about her sickness,” he requested stoutly, expecting an answer.
Since Mithourn was the only one who spoke Hargirmian, he was the one to relate to Gedahl what Leyfian had told him. The Healer nodded shortly at Mithourn’s recount but said nothing. The Healer had Kanni help in untying Leyfian’s gown and pulling it off to reveal her lower abdomen, leaving her bare of any clothing. She groaned incomprehensibly, shifting a little, but doing nothing else. Mithourn felt his heart beat quicker at seeing her naked, until he stifled it and focused on what Gedahl was doing. The other man seemed unconcerned with her pretty body laid bare; Healers were used to seeing people unclothed, the ugly and the beautiful.
The Ferirgrisi put a hand on her belly, closing his eyes, tracing his fingers meditatively down each of her legs, to just above her knees. Then his hand probed upward, ending at her left breast. Taking his hand away, he opened his eyes and looked to Kanni and Mithourn. “Something has rooted inside of her, but it is not of this world,” he explained with one of his gestures to the surroundings. “I might be able to delay it from infiltrating her heart any further, if only for a short time, but it will overcome her eventually. You will have to look for someone more powerful than I to cure her fully. Truthfully, I am surprised that she is still alive; with something like this inside her, she should have passed away a week or more ago.”
Mithourn couldn’t inquire after the dramatic announcement because Kanni suddenly gasped in remembrance of something, leaping off to the nearby bed-table to pick up a black stone.
She went around the bed to hand it to Gedahl. “I was looking at this when she had her attack. I used it accidentally when I kept her heart from expiring,” she explained, though Gedahl couldn’t understand what it was she was saying.
He understood the sight and feel of the Drakestone, however, turning it over in his hands for a moment. “With this I . . . I’ll see what I can do with it.” With that, he placed the stone on Leyfian’s stomach, putting both his hands over it and closing his eyes again for concentration.
There were several moments of stillness, silence. Nothing appeared to happen that Mithourn could see. Perhaps Kanni could tell what was going on, but he was too stuck in place to break the silence and ask her about it. The Highmage stared blankly at the Ferirgrisi’s hands while she stroked Leyfian’s hair. She was muttering heavily underneath her breath, praying feverishly for divine aid. Mithourn didn’t believe in divine assistance; it had never helped him in life before. Just because he was alive didn’t mean that he had been Blessed. Sometimes he felt that death would be better. If Leyfian died, it would just be more proof.
She won’t die, he brooded with a denying snarl. Not this time. She at least deserves to live.
Gedahl moved the Drakestone to rest above her heart, focusing there for several more moments. He breathed calmly, deeply and with calculated control, much like a meditation. Eventually, he took the black stone up, placing it back on the table. “I’ve done what I can,” he explained, “so she should have a stronger heart for a while, until the foreign growth comes back. I suggest that you find someone who can cure her.”
“Do you know of anyone?” Mithourn asked hoarsely, finally jerking forward to stand at Leyfian’s side. He helped Kanni pull the bed-sheets over her, covering her up to her neck.
“There are the Gelsingean Monks, the greatest Healers known in the world. Or you could try to find a mage in Dakryn who has better insight than I do. Both are hard to find, but the only plausible chance for your friend. I would say that with something this strange and dangerous, it is not a matter of strength which will save her, but a matter of wisdom and skill. I could be twice as powerful as I am and still not know what to do to save her. That is why I suggest finding the Monks, or the Dakrynians. No one else will do, I am afraid.”
“Do you know how to find either of them?”
The Healer straightened his robes. “The Dakrynian Healers are scattered across all of Dakryn, moving from place to place, but they usually stay near the largest of the cities. The Gelsingean Monks can only be found reliably in The Monastery, so far as I know. It is in the Gelsingean Mountains, but beyond that, I don’t know how to locate them.”
“Thank you,” Mithourn said quietly, gratefully. Leyfian was already looking more healthy, as her breathing had become more full and calm, while her skin flushed with life again. “We owe you a great amount for this,” he added, almost as a question to see what the man would want for payment.
Gedahl took his eyes away from Kanni, who he had been glancing at with some interest as she held Leyfian’s hand, looking at her old friend hopefully. Apparently a pretty face could distract the Healer, when he wasn’t working his craft. “Oh, yes,” he noised in response to Mithourn. He looked hesitantly to the black stone on the table. “Usually I would request for a fee, but this time, I would humbly ask for that Drakestone there, if it is not the only one in your possession. Not a fee, but a gift, if you would. With that stone I could cure more people who come to me, instead of simply alleviating a chronic illness.” There was no greed in his voice to betray a lie, only a hopeful tinge for the pained people of the world.
Mithourn considered it, even though the stone was not his to give. “Kanni,” he addressed, gaining an expectant look from the woman. “Gedahl has requested to have that Drakestone for his use, to help him Heal other people. Is it the most powerful one we have?”
“I think the green one is the strongest. Or maybe the yellow. Just give it to him; he deserves it, and he’ll use it better than I can.”
Nodding in agreement, he took the Drakestone in hand and held it out for Gedahl. “The stone is yours,”
The Healer took it in his weathered hands, not wasting time, but neither did he snatch it up like a rat. “I and many others will be very grateful for this. Is there anything else you might need? No? Then I’ll be on my way back. You know where to find me if you ever need help again.” Without further words, he made a small bow to them, Ferirgrisi fashion, with a hand to his heart, and found his way out of the room, leaving the three alone. Well, five, if the magpies were counted.
Soon as the Healer left, Mithourn found the bag of maps that Leyfian kept near her, pulling out two large specimens, one of Gelsing, the other of Hargirm. On the former, a red dot showed where The Monastery could be found in the Gelsingean Mountains, but no road led to it. He found another map of Gelsing, but whereas that one showed a road connecting to The Monastery, it also placed the monument somewhere else in the mountains. So no one was really certain where it was, or how to get to it.
Mithourn murmured a foul curse that made Kanni look up in astonishment. How in Creation have the Monks become so renowned if no one knows how to find them!?
“Whoa there, gutter-mouth,” she addressed with less than half of her usual fervor, and a fraction of her brightness. Her good spirits were diminished—destroyed—from Leyfian’s predicament. “Let me look at those before you start panicking.” She came over to his side and pored over the maps, quickly producing a curse of her own when she saw the trouble. Afterwards she traced a finger along the map with the road. “We’ll have to take the road and have the magpies search the mountains from there. I’ve taken that road before—when my family moved to Gelsing for a while—so it definitely exists, but I don’t remember seeing anything like a monastery when we were traveling along it. Maybe a side road leads to them.” To add to that, she sighed hopelessly and groaned. “I told Leyfian that she should go to the Monks, but she didn’t listen. I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered if she had, since problems got in the way. Do you think we can get her to them in time?”
“We’ll have to,” the High Captain pronounced.
At that moment, Marram and Gelvir made their way into the room, only a minute apart. The Kingsguard went directly to Leyfian’s side and demanded what had happened to her. The Boar just stood back and waited for an explanation. After Kanni’s clipped recount, Gelvir made a frustrated look as he patted Leyfian awkwardly on the head, briefly.
Marram huffed with incredulity. “She was having heart problems all this time? Why didn’t you tell me before running me off to go on a Nebuloom-search? I know several plants that can help,”
“You do?” the Highmage questioned eagerly. “Can any of them help with a weak heart in particular?”
Marram scratched one of his furry ears and cocked his head to the side, his neck crackling at the movement. He must have been stiff from being about for so long. “Let me think . . . Heartblossom has its name for more than just its shape; it gets the blood flowing more strongly. Arrowhead Moss does the same. Rodosoan can help someone who can’t breathe very well, which helps a weak heart, and Sprite’s Candles can do the same, though they can make you spew your last meal if you take too much. Lastly, you could put Leyfian to sleep for long periods with Nightbulb flowers, to keep her from being stressed and getting another attack. Though that might make her heart just fade away instead of convulse. It’s leafs are also a good laxative, if your guts are clogged.”
“All right, that’s more than enough information,” Kanni said, dismissing his last comment from her mind. “How about we find some of those Heartblossoms and Rodosoan?”
“Not good,” Marram disagreed with a sagely shake of his head. “They’ll explode,”
“They’ll what?” Kanni breathed, Gelvir echoing something similar.
“If they’re mixed together they blow up and make you look like a Blasted Cap. It’ll have to be Arrowhead Moss with Rodosoan,” he declared.
Mithourn intervened at that point, crossing his arms over his armored chest and clearing his throat of a lump. “Just get whatever you are sure can help, and get it quick. I want to move today, if we’re going to get anywhere.”
The boar just gave him a snort and a dark look, irritated by his tone of command. Settling for a shrug afterwards, Marram walked out the door, his hooves clopping down the hall as he left them.
Pivoting to face Gelvir, the High Captain went on. “We haven’t restocked yet, so I need you to take the pack horse out and find supplies. Food, new blankets, candles—you know what to do.”
Gelvir didn’t know how to speak Hargirmian, but coin spoke in all languages, so he wouldn’t have too much trouble in his endeavor. And so the Lower General left their company, taking his leave without a word.
That left Mithourn alone with Kanni and Leyfian. He wouldn’t send Kanni off on a task because she might be needed by Leyfian again. Also, she saw that logic as well, and likely wouldn’t leave Leyfian’s side at such a severe time for anything. He went to dig under Leyfian’s bed, finding the strong wooden box he needed, along with the Drakestones that laid inside. The stones gleamed in the light when the lid was lifted away, nearly glowing with vibrant color. Green, red and yellow were what remained, each roughly the same mass, with equally large serpent’s eyes in their centers. He stuffed the box towards Kanni, holding it out for her to inspect.
Taking the green stone out, she made a Magical Light which glowed above their heads, then placed the stone back. “You know, I’ve heard that its not the size of the stone which determines its strength, but the size of the eye in the center. Of course, after a certain point, the gem has to be larger in order to hold the eye. I wonder if there is a Drakestone with two eyes?” As she rambled nervously, she attempted her Light on the yellow stone, getting a brighter illumination from it than the green one had given. “They say that the Drakestone of Gelsing—the one they hold in the palace of Formingar—has an eye the size of dog. I wonder what I could do with something like that?” The red Drakestone proved weaker than the first two, so she placed it and the green one back, holding the yellow one for herself. After a moment she decided to stuff it down into the satchel at her hip.
“Is it possible to use two of them at once?” Mithourn asked, hesitant to close the lid of the chest.
“I could, but it requires more concentration and time. If we have that kind of time, we can just pull them out of the box when we need them. I’ll hold this one for an emergency. I hope it doesn’t come to that again,”
There was little else to do after that. There came into debate the idea of searching out a mage with Teleportation abilities, but it was discarded, because in the search for Healers, Mithourn had also learned of nearly every other mage in Thenmere, and none of them were fit to make Wormholes.
Gelvir and Marram came back from their errands, and while the Boar crafted a tonic from his bundles of ingredients, the others prepared the horses—and Leyfian—for the day’s ride. Mithourn soon extracted the information he needed about the eastbound road from the innkeeper; it was a cobbled road that followed the coast of Oshyigar, eventually going along The Bridge, a thin piece of land that separated Oshyigar from the waters of the Mangrove Bay of Steshour. By that spit land, Gelsing could be entered, though the road might not lead them to where they needed to go. That was where Pyka and Tae would come in. Mithourn actually felt that fortune was with him on that account. With the two birds, there was a chance of finding the Gelsingean Monks before Leyfian was killed by her heart.
Leyfian became fully conscious just before they were ready to leave, so Marram approached her with a bowl of watered tonic, sat her up in her bed and put the vessel to her lips, making her drink it down. Even while weak, she managed to pull the bed-sheets around herself in embarrassment and to ask why she had been undressed. When she was given the details of her attack and what Gedahl had informed them of, she sighed tiredly and accepted the need to divert her path. She was dressed up in thick clothes to keep her warm, since her weak heart would have difficulties keeping her as ardent as everyone else.
It was very risky to move her right after her incident, but there was little time, so they set her up on the plow-horse with Mithourn sitting behind her on the saddle to hold her upright. Thistle and Dune held some of the plow-horse’s original load, though it was more to clear space for the passengers atop her back than to relieve her of a load. She could likely haul a full wagon up a hill on her own.
Marram was left alone on foot, as Kanni and Gelvir tied the riderless horses to the saddles of their own mounts, until Leyfian and Mithourn could ride them again. But the Boar wasn’t completely lacking in company because of his estrangement from the plow-horse. He had a grass-woven pack strapped to his back, with all of the magpies’ food stuffed inside, and with a lidded top where they could rest in peace and security. Most of the time, however, they stood on either of his shoulders and spoke in his ears when they were bored.
Thus outfitted and arranged, the group made for the eastern road out of Thenmere by daylight, hoping and praying that Leyfian held on until help could be found. There was so little time.