Galithour I - Part 9/13

Chapter XXVIII

Fish Bait

27th of Late Spring, 376, 5th Era – Sinking Fortress, Northern Dakryn

The centipede slipped out of a crack in the ancient stone floor, and proceeded to climb among the moss and vines that grew in the sparse sunbeams. He practically slithered across the ground as he searched for prey. Suddenly, he spotted it: a large, juicy cricket who was blissfully ignorant of him. Preparing his poisonous claws, he advanced on the fat cricket. She squeaked nervously and scrambled off a small distance. Still, the centipede crawled to get at her, coming up to a mound of rubble topped by a massive bronze-colored creature. So close, and the cricket was looking the other way for the moment.

The centipede was crushed unexpectedly; he had been caught unaware by the bronze monster, smashed by one of its paws. In an instant, the centipede was dead, just after he had thought that he was the predator.

The bronze Dragon shifted his limbs, falling into a series of growls and grumbles of pain.

The Black Dragon? It must be Soul Skulker, then. Dak`kcar felt a pang of hate swell up in him, as well as something almost unrecognizable. It was faint, but he could feel the fear in himself. If he is large enough to chase off a flock of Dragons, how am I going to defeat him? He looked to the wounded drake. A stab in the back. He would need bait, to draw attention away from himself. Without that assistance, Soul Skulker would sense Dak`kcar by proximity.

His eyes were drawn to the dying Dragon. Cruel, maybe, but necessary. Coming close to the beast, he hovered his hands over the gashes on the Dragon’s chest. He had to use Modification Magic to draw the flesh together since he was inept at Healing Magic. Using a searing dose of Elemental Magic, he melded the tissues, making the Dragon groan. He may have been a Fire Dragon and therefore resistant to burns from the outside, but that didn’t make it any less painful to have his flesh scorched from the inside. He panted for a moment, the practice of bearing agony an exertion in itself.

Finally, he calmed, and looked to the Yindarian. “May Fire and Wind gift you as you would have it,” the Dragon said gratefully, those words being his way thanking Dak`kcar.

The stag nodded, feeling regretful at why he had healed the Dragon. Regret was something he had not fully felt since the Light half of his Soul had been devoured. It was an unfamiliar feeling now, and he wished for it to go away. “What is your name?” he asked. If the Dragon was very likely going to lose his life and maybe even his Soul, his name would not be left forgotten, but would be remembered for his sacrifice. That thought appeased the guilt in Dak`kcar’s mind—a little.

“Tahs,” the Dragon answered. “I will leave as soon as my wings have the strength. You should leave also, before The Black Dragon finds us. I can carry you away, if you would accept the offer.”

“When your wings have the strength,” Dak`kcar assured, though the Light inside him twitched. It grew from compassion, but shrunk beside the Void which flared up from cold calculation, and the thought of revenge. In the mind of his Darkness, one living being was worth the exchange to injure Soul Skulker.

Straightening, Dak`kcar rolled his shoulders. “Gain your strength, I will be back soon.”

Tahs nodded, and dragged himself slowly off of his rubble heap, which had been the ceilings and floors of the levels above him.

Dak`kcar walked off to a dark passageway, finding a path that led to the roof of the fortress. The bases of towers sprouted out of the roof, and many trees as well. There were no walls on that tier, just the forest and the sky. He tried to look to where he had first spotted Soul Skulker in the forest—though he hadn’t known that it was the demon at the time. The natural stone mountain that the fortress rested against blocked his view. He needed to be on the top of one of the towers to see over the formation, but he didn’t bother climbing one of the columns at that moment.

A rock bounced off his head.

Turning rapidly, Dak`kcar found a furry, cat-like monkey perched high in a tree with a twig ready to hurl in her hand. Dak`kcar growled. “What the fuck was that for?” The monkey just cooed at him and threw the sprig at his face. She blinked at him and sat on her branch, expectantly waiting for a response. “You don’t like what I'm about to do? Is that it?” Dak`kcar asked himself more than the monkey. “Well, it has to be done.”

Another rock struck him on the brow.

“It has to be done, get it? Now leave before you get killed as well.” The monkey just observed him as he walked on. He went into one of the towers, climbing its height in moments. When he reached its summit, he looked to where he thought Soul Skulker might be. The stag focused on creating an ethereal bow and arrow out of Combat Magic. When the phantom Weapons were firmly in his hands, he nocked the arrow and took aim, then released the shaft, watching it fly gracefully into the air, off into the forest several miles off. It was an arrow made of both Combat and Elemental Magic. He had woven some Wind into the shaft so it could go farther before landing.

He didn’t see where the arrow fell, but he saw a few large birds that had been disturbed by it. A mile or so in the distance, a huge mass moved beneath those tall trees. A dozen of the woody sentinels were felled and torn down as Soul Skulker stood and spread his four wings. Two hundred feet tall at the peak of his horns and twice that in wingspan, his crimson eyes were like twin, venomous stars.

“DAK`KCAR!” The demon somehow combined a scream, screech, howl and roar into one hateful reverberation. He swung his head around hungrily, searching for his quarry.

Prey, Dak`kcar corrected himself. I’m no longer an equal opponent. His mind was blank with shock as he watched Soul Skulker level huge swaths of forest in a desperate hunt to find him. Trees groaned desperately as they leaned over, splintering down their trunks. The demon gave the fortress an expression of sudden realization, and started toward it. He would be there in half a minute.

Dak`kcar shivered with fear. The demon was unstoppable. Even a stab in the back would prove useless. Tahs should get out of here, the stag thought. It would only be pointless to get him killed as well. Besides, he would only distract me as much as Soul Skulker. He sprinted down the steps, making a metallic cacophony as he went, and he came back to Tahs’ resting place. The Dragon was already up and walking around slowly, wings folded neatly on his back. 

“You have to leave,” Dak`kcar forewarned as he strode into the large room.

Tahs gave him a weird expression. “I’m not ready yet. Not to carry you, not now.”

“I’m not coming, so leave now. The demon has found us.”

The Dragon looked anxious, which was an odd sight in a Dragon’s fearless eyes. He looked about, darting his head around nervously like a cat. “Why aren’t you going to flee?”

Dak`kcar pulled out his bow at the tremors of Soul Skulker’s approach. “Because this is my fight. Leave. This isn’t your battle.”

“I can assist you. I owe you that much as an offer.”

“You owe me nothing!” Dak`kcar shouted. For once he was trying to be kind, but the Dragon wouldn’t accept it. Or was he just giving mercy to something that was no longer useful? “Do you know why I healed you? I did it so you could be bait, a trap for the demon. I helped you purely so you could get yourself killed just moments later. I attracted Soul Skulker here for battle, so before he turns this place to a pile of ashes, get the fuck out of here!”

Tahs looked as if he had swallowed something distasteful. He leapt swiftly to the next level like a cougar, and then jumped from there through the holes he had carved in his previous descent. He disappeared over the lip of the final hole that led to the sky.

Dak`kcar watched the Dragon leave with hopelessness. The tremors in the ground quieted. He was alone now, and with a monstrous demon hunting after him. Perhaps the most powerful demon to exist.

That was severely erroneous, though Soul Skulker would hotly deny it.

He’s in there, The Black Dragon thought silently. He’s in that box, and I am going to fish him out. I want to see the terror in his every fiber as I feast on the last of his Soul. The Black Dragon stared down on the massive fortress, its towers at his eye level.

He shrunk down, to become the size of a horse. It was one of many abilities possessed by the Kuldaki. They could shrink to become as small as they liked, but they could only grow to a mass that their power allowed. The more Souls they ate, the larger they grew, in all aspects.

Thus shrunken, he scouted the outskirts of the fortress, until he found an entrance into the box, as he termed it. The threshold was so blocked with vines and the roots of trees that Soul Skulker had to disintegrate into a smoky shadow to make it past the barrier. When he reformed, he was in the overgrown tunnel system of the fortress, surrounded by mushrooms and plants and small streams of water.

Folding his four wings up tidily, he skulked along the watery passages, glancing with flaming eyes around the corners at intersections, keeping a cautious watch for Dak`kcar. He was vulnerable by remaining so small, thus making caution a wise thing. He might have just crushed and stamped the whole fortress to rubble in his giant form, but that would destroy the point. Dak`kcar was special among his prey. He hated Dak`kcar.

The Hunter was the first thing he had learned to hate, because of the pain Dak`kcar had caused him. Before, Soul Skulker had been the hunter, not really caring about the prey he ate. They concerned him little other than to be food. But then Dak`kcar had turned it around by becoming a piece of game which always fought back and escaped The Dragon’s jaws.

Soul Skulker heard a noise down the passage. It caught him unawares, and he reacted by shrinking himself to the size of an insect and clinging to the underside of a mushroom. What am I doing? he thought. I don’t lurk around like Nether Wraith. I am THE DRAGON! He was a proud and arrogant creature, despite the many times he had been defeated by Dak`kcar. No matter how many times he was beaten down, he would always rise up to new heights of arrogance and act as if each defeat had been his victory.

Still, as an insect of a Dragon, he hovered around the corner and assessed his solitude, eyes no less molten for being tiny. He shifted to the girth of a horse again, and walked confidently down the passageways. He came to a large chamber half filled with water, deep in the ground. He transformed his paws to become wide fins and waded into the water, swimming across effectively to the other side. Coming onto the steps of a new staircase, he looked up at the cascading water, which ran to wash his morphing fins. As his extremities returned to the shape of paws, he traversed several more passages, becoming impatient by each passing instant. He wanted to gain the advantage and approach Dak`kcar from behind, but he was beginning to suspect that he was being stalked himself.

Turning quickly, Soul Skulker threw his head out and opened his mouth wide, screeching as he filled the hall with black fire. When the flames of Void dissipated, a charred corridor with plants turned to demented husks stood before him. He didn’t feed off the destroyed plants; he didn’t eat that kind of Soul. Fully conscientious living beings were what he feasted upon. Humans and other equally or more developed creatures were his prey. He would only bother with wild animals if he was starving.

Seeing a crack in the ceiling of his passage, he shrunk to the size of an ant and crawled into the crevice, which seemed significantly larger to him now. He climbed up the sheer sides and on top of the sand grains as if they were cliffs and boulders. When he came to the end of the crevice, he squeezed himself up through the tiny crack to the next level of the fortress. He found vines overhead, with sunlight seeping between their leafs. It was like a forest to him. The Kuldaki climbed one of the stalks of the vine leafs, pushing past more than one confused ant as he made his way to the height of the leaf. When he reached the top of the foliage and gazed about the enormous room with a newly broken ceiling, his eyes flared.

Finally. He saw Dak`kcar in the room, the stag obviously straining his senses to find Soul Skulker. Well, I’m right here, the demon laughed silently. He could have attempted to suck Dak`kcar’s Soul out from where he was, but that would be just as plain as crushing the Yindarian without seeing his agony. Such a kill had to be done right. And, aside from that, The Hunter might just flee like he had on the day of their first meeting.

Soul Skulker burst outwards suddenly, becoming a large drake again. He didn’t grow to his full size; that would make the whole box fall apart, and Dak`kcar would be swallowed by stone instead of Soul Skulker’s maw. At roughly the mass of Dak`kcar, the Black Dragon stopped his growth. His centuries-old enemy turned and loosed an arrow on him.

Sidestepping the steel shaft, Soul Skulker spread his four wings out gloriously before releasing a flood of Voidfire.

Dak`kcar blocked the flames with a ward of Ice, the Kuldaki heard it, the fight between crystalline water and fiery Void. He gave up the whole affair and rushed forwards as he retracted his flames. A spear, a sword and an axe all skillfully stabbed and hacked at him, but he dodged the blows, or his armored body took them without difficulty. He went for Dak`kcar’s neck with his jagged mouth, but was whipped on the brow by the haft of his enemy’s sword. He hissed and turned to throw his tail into his quarry’s knees. A grunt escaped Dak`kcar, but that was all, a fact which infuriated Soul Skulker. Why did Dak`kcar always manage the perfect escapes and unrivaled victories?

Maybe not perfect, the Black Dragon thought, seeing Nether Wraith’s mark on the Kuldaki Hunter. Without that fourth arm, Dak`kcar might not be able to prevent Soul Skulker from tearing another one off.

The demon lunged forward, pouncing with claws, wings and teeth. A strong burst of Kinetic Magic sent him flying back, but he felt warm wetness in between his claws. He had drawn the first blood, if only a little.

As he rolled from his flank back onto his feet, he heard Dak`kcar throw all weapons aside. The Arium tools clattered across the stone floor, just as Dak`kcar forged an ethereal staff out of the air with Combat Magic, the pole nearly twice as long as he was tall. The ends were pointed, Soul Skulker noticed with distaste. He circled the Kuldaki Hunter with caution, wings folded back and head held low.

Dak`kcar rushed him with the pole, swinging and twirling the weapon faster than Soul Skulker could maneuver around. The Black Dragon leapt over his enemy’s head, but Dak`kcar just shortened and re-lengthened the staff as he needed and swept Soul Skulker out of the air. The demon felt himself slam heavily into the ground, the staff pinning him down at the flank. He heard one of his armor plates crack.

Screech-howling and clawing at the stone to get to his paws, he decided that he was done being fair, giving Dak`kcar even a remote chance to defeat him. Enough! he screamed. You will tremble while I tear your Soul to screaming threads!

He exploded with growth as he forced every last mote of power he possessed to course through him. The fortress collapsed around him, and his paws fell through the lower floors of the box, until an enormous segment of the structure had fallen around him, and Dak`kcar was left on an open-ended sliver of the fortress. A hundred feet higher than his enemy, Soul Skulker lowered his head on his long neck and gazed at Dak`kcar with eyes that almost bubbled over from smelted pride and rage.

Surprise lit Dak`kcar’s eyes. Soul Skulker bared his notched mouth in satisfaction, until he realized that the surprise wasn’t directed at him. A monstrous force slammed into the back of his skull, and sent his head hurling down towards Dak`kcar. His enemy took no time in sending an ethereal spear through the bottom of his jaw and up. Searing pain pierced his skull. His head throbbed as he shook it and searched for the new attacker, who had overturned the odds to Dak`kcar’s favor. He would shred them sinew from sinew for the injustice.

It was the orange-bronze Dragon he had wounded when he had scared off that flock of Dragons. Miraculously, the beast had recovered, and only a burnt scar remained where Soul Skulker distinctly remembered leaving tooth marks.

Screeching hideously, The Black Dragon leapt into the air and reached out with his mouth to snatch the imp of a drake out of the sky. Tahs dodged him agilely and then spewed a wide spout of flames in his eyes.

Soul Skulker became dangerously livid. At that moment he was fully willing to destroy himself just to end his enemies. He spread his wings determinedly. Whatever attacks and wounds that were inflicted on him in that moment, he ignored. He jumped with all four of his legs, then beat his wings quickly and in perfect rhythm, causing a hurricane of colliding gusts below. Flying dexterously in tight circles, he ascended hundreds of feet in a moment, and he continued at that rate, muttering and cursing to himself. Once he was several miles above the fortress that held both his quarries, he folded his wings in close, and dove headfirst to the ground.

“Tahs!” Dak`kcar shouted to the drake, who had landed on the fortress to wait for Soul Skulker to return. “We need to get away,” he warned, looking to the sky and seeing that Soul Skulker became smaller every second as he flew upwards.

“Why should we leave?” the Dragon asked from a broken level above. He gave Dak`kcar a skeptical look, remaining cautious of the Kuldaki Hunter. The stag had said that he had considered sacrificing Tahs as fish bait. Demon bait, more accurately.

“If I know anything, Soul Skulker is about to dive and crash into this whole fortress like a meteorite. Let’s go.” Dak`kcar picked up his previously discarded Arium weapons, then gave Tahs a commanding glare from his lower position.

The Dragon shifted under the gaze. “Get on,” he conceded, jumping down to Dak`kcar’s level and crouching low with wings spread at their widest. Dak`kcar climbed onto Tahs’ back, wrapping his three arms tightly around the neck of the Dragon. Tahs ran forward, then leapt off the edge of the broken fortress, pumping his wings fiercely to stay airborne. He went towards the lake at the edge of the fortress, just as Soul Skulker’s shadow began to encompass them.

The demon fell like a quarrel from the sky, having just begun his stoop. There were only seconds before he crashed, and Tahs wasn’t even out of the demon’s bodily range. The Black Dragon screeched in triumph as he aimed for the fleeing pair. They wouldn’t escape.

The demon pounded into the fortress, solid flesh bursting with black fire and dark clouds of smoky darkness. In the center of the expanding, fading ring of darkness, Soul Skulker tried to take shape after the damage he had wrought on himself, but he only formed as a pathetic, dripping sort of Dragon before he collapsed and faded into a mere shadow. His crimson eyes glinted when he took flight as a misty phantom and fled south, laughing hysterically in victory.

The Hunter struggled to swim to the surface of the lake, and when his head burst out of the water, he gasped for air. He was in the waters of the small lake that stood beside the fortress. A film of Soul Skulker’s Void-wrought inner fluids floated on the surface of the water, so Dak`kcar dove back under the timid waves and swam to the edge of the lake. He somehow managed to hold onto his weapons the whole while, so he nodded to himself in approval when he landed on the shore of the lake, still in possession of them.

Looking out across to the wrecked fortress and the burnt forest around it, the Kuldaki Hunter wondered what had befallen Tahs. He himself had jumped from the back of the orange Dragon as soon as the lake had presented itself underneath them, but he hadn’t seen the Dragon follow after him. He did not know if Dragons were immune to Soul Skulker’s Voidfire, but he doubted it, even as the thought occurred to him.

“May Fire and Wind gift you as you would have it,” Dak`kcar whispered to the air, looking skyward. “Your name will not be forgotten, Tahs.” The Light of his Soul grew and fought against the overshadowing Darkness, no longer just a small star, but a swirling, fiery mass of light.

Following his sense of the Kuldaki, which led him on like a fish to hooked bait, he turned south and trekked back into the overgrown forest.

Chapter XXIX

Old Stories

2nd of Early Summer, 376, 5th Era – Jaek, Central Hargirm

The day was bright, the sky blanketed in gorgeous cumulus clouds that revealed the sun, Orøs and Bæl`diis through wide openings in the cover. Under that dappled and constantly shifting light, the city of Jaek resided. It was lively and pleasant, both in appearance and spirit, with tall houses and buildings crowded together and rising like small towers out of the gentle plains, sloped roofs thatched or tiled with ruddy clay, walls crafted of granite and wood. It was also a very large city, perhaps wall-less, but boasting over twice the population that Theargern could hold, near a quarter million. Not the largest city in Hargirm, but the country’s biggest producer of goods by far; its expanse was surrounded by fields of crops and grazing pastures full of livestock for dozens of miles in every direction, and it brought in agricultural commerce from all over the country. Of course, much of its bounty had been robbed by Darenhar and outlaws, but its people had continued to prosper to a degree since they hadn’t sold any of their products to anyone for months; they had become self sufficient by hoarding all of their own food and goods, but much went to waste, and they were lacking in other areas. Since there was no outside trade, they were missing important amenities, such as salt for curing meat, and steel and tools to replace those which were broken. Timber was running low, since the nearest forest was thirty miles away, and few could go out to fetch great quantities of it. And, most important to the locals, there was no wine left. Southern Hargirm produced some of the finest, but Jaek had been all but cut off from from every city, as the others were cut off from it. There was some trade between them, but only the brave trekked far on the roads at that time, with bands of outlaws scouring the countryside, and no armies to put them down or even guard the cities. The dwellings had all fallen in on themselves, trying to reform while keeping vandals at bay. The cities were safe, where the common people had made soldiers out of their own men in order to guard the streets and committees to keep the city in order, but villages, small towns and the fields were all helpless to the large groups of savages going about. It wasn’t as if all of the outlaws had sprouted out of Hargirm when Darenhar went on his rampage to disarm the country; but rather, it was after he did when unsavory men poured in from the surrounding countries, seeing Hargirm as a perfect victim that could do nothing to stop them.

Jaek had remained stable throughout the quakes that had shaken Hargirm, keeping an armed watch on many of its fields, preventing small bands of vandals from robbing them, giving way to larger groups when it was necessary. Some of its outlying buildings had been burned by daring outlaws, but the people had managed to keep the number small. The city still had its fair share of beggars in the streets, though, men and women who had relied on the outer cities to keep them fed and at work, now reduced to rags. Others were from smaller settlements which had been ravaged and burned, all looking for help in the safety of Jaek.

The rest of the inhabitants seemed well-off and about keeping themselves busy, repairing wagons and roofs, building houses to replace the burned structures, leading trails of animals to market and washing clothes. They were a little worse for wear, though still clean and healthy; the Aragen river ran through Jaek, providing constant water for anything they might need, including sanitation. It was also the source of irrigation for their crops, and they had used its full potential in that respect, making waterwheels which transported the liquid up to the fields via aqueducts. They also used those same waterwheels to power millstones for grinding grain.

The people of Jaek were certainly ingenious and adaptable, and they had weathered the storm Darenhar caused better than the other cities.

 As Kanni and her companions passed between a contingent of roughly armored guards with rusted voulges and billhooks, she fumbled through her satchel, found a silver coin, and leaned out of her saddle to gift it to a scrawny woman who had two young sons. The Highmage hoped that the woman would find a more profitable avocation than begging and feed her children properly.

Mithourn led them on horse, with Leyfian trailing a little at his side, close to the man but silent. As always, he lugged that ridiculous pike around in his one hand, his favorite weapon which had been recovered along with his black mare. Kanni suspected that he and Gelvir had only been able to pass into the city because they looked like trained warriors, not bandits looking to loot and kill. So, it was their shiny armor, that set them apart from common scum, she realized and smiled. And the two pretty women with them. She didn’t think that the outlaws had any women with them. At least, not women that were finely dressed or in a happy mood. The mage didn’t want to think of what the outlaws did to the women they kept.

They had avoided vandals on their road from Theargern, thankfully, having only seen two smoke-plumes in the distance on their journey. Likely burned fields or hamlets, but there was little that they could have done, and anyways, both times the smoke had been white with age. The highroad they had taken passed through several small towns and villages, most half abandoned, but still with an inn and merchant of some kind. Some travelers had even met them going the opposite direction, carrying news with them. One man had even sat down with them for a meal, calmly telling them in all honesty that a village had been saved from marauders by giant furry beasts that could only be Wolverines, only, they had been summoned by an enchantress with a baby who spoke in a strange language. Mithourn had actually laughed at that! Kanni couldn’t believe the tale either, though she had been polite to the grizzled farmer, not insulting his intelligence and sanity, even if she had never heard of a Summoner powerful enough to Bid a thousand or more creatures at once, much less Wolverines. Bidding could bring creatures to a mage from somewhere in the world or even from another Realm, but it was the Summoner’s problem to get the beasts to listen to them, beasts which were likely confused and angry at being plucked from their homes and set in an unfamiliar place with a bossy mage. She thought that Wolverines would sooner tear off the Summoner’s head than wait for her to explain what she wanted. That was why Bidding Magic was either strategically used—like Summoning violent creatures when destruction was needed—or paired with Possession Magic, which would force the Bid creature into service. Possession Magic was outlawed in all of the countries, though that didn’t stop some people from using it.

Kanni had been taught a little of the Possession Class, but her Ascendant had only given her the knowledge so she would know how to combat it, whether it was used on her or another. Resisting the Magic was a matter of willpower or restraint; the Possessor could try to enter someone’s mind by either seduction or rape, depending on their personality, and detecting either form took skill. Well, the latter was like having bars of steel slam around one’s mind, and by the time it was felt, it was usually too late, unless the victim had an extremely powerful will. Dragons were very powerful of mind, but they were so strong-willed that they died in the struggle, unless they could break the Possessor instead.

Kanni shook thoughts of Magic out of her mind and looked to the stone-brick road instead, following after Gelvir at a slow gait, Marram behind her with the plow-horse’s reins in his hands. He refused to ride a horse, preferring his own two cleft hooves, even when the group had to cover twenty to thirty miles a day. The Boar had endurance and strength for such long treks, something that Kanni didn’t believe she herself had the resolve for. She hardly had the strength to remain in her saddle once it started to rub uncomfortably on her bottom.

A powerful wind raised up and rushed through streets, bringing her the warm smell of baking flatbread which the Hargirmians ate as prolifically as beans. The sweeping winds were common in that part of Hargirm, and she had heard that sometimes a cyclone came through the area, tearing fields to rubble and doing worse to buildings. Cyclones never occurred in the north, and Kanni wondered why anyone would stay in a place that could easily be misplaced by the winds. All the north had to worry about was ice storms which could lock people in their houses for days and coat a city in several feet of ice. She supposed that ice storms were rather wretched as well.

Leyfian suddenly spoke up, and Kanni had to strain her ears to hear over the wind and babbling groups of people moving through the streets. “I think we should rest here for two or three days; the horses could use a rest, and we need to stock up on supplies as well as information.”

Mithourn nodded silently and Gelvir said, “Of course, my lady,”

Marram growled something about his hooves needing a break. So even Boars ran dry on energy.

They went together towards the center of the city where the buildings were closer together and taller, a several mile journey. Along with the smell of baking food, their was the putrid scent that always accompanied large dwellings, from horse dung and chamberpots emptied into the streets. Like most decent settlements, the people put their waste in the back alleys, where it would be dealt with later by carters. The wind helped in keeping the city from growing stagnant, but it could also blow a strong whiff into their faces which was unpleasant, to be truthful. Kanni was sure that Hrimrin had smelled better, and definitely Herkile, but then, those were cities of stable and prosperous countries which hadn’t been frayed by tyranny. Whatever the case, it only took a quarter of an hour before her nose adjusted and learned to ignore the stench.

The company passed through noisy parts of the city, where smiths smelted broken tools to reuse the steel and pounded out scythes, hoes or plows, where shopkeepers displayed useful wares and little else, while men, women and children moved about, navigating oxen, horses, wagons and loose livestock. A chicken clucked, trotting to escape a young man by running between the hooves of a shaggy cow. Kanni wheeled her steed around the chicken, the stumbling young fellow, and then a burly man and stout woman who were rolling a closed barrel along the street. After that, the roads cleared out considerably, and Leyfian pointed to a fine-looking inn, where they dismounted to pay for rooms inside. Marram and Gelvir remained behind to guard the horses, who carried vast amounts of wealth on their backs. It was easy to find rooms at the topmost floor of the four-story lodge, all next to each other; no one was visiting Jaek, and the inhabitants had no need to rent out a room when they had a home within the city. That was likely why the innkeeper was renting out rooms to farmers who needed to store away surplus sacks and barrels of crops.

The rooms all together were paid for at a fairly high price, but Leyfian seemed unworried about it. Her father had loaded her down with Helkrasic coins after all.

Once the men had hauled the heavy chests up to Leyfian’s room and Marram had all of the horses unsaddled and put in stalls, there was a question of what to do next. Leyfian was inclined to take a nap on her sun-draped bed while Mithourn decided to ask around for information from the locals, anything from what the weather was likely to do and what the condition of the country was in the south. Gelvir thought it necessary to stand guard near Leyfian’s room, but Kanni managed to convince him to go look at city with her and Marram. The mage had started to notice that it was getting easier to turn his mind in a different direction, usually towards herself.

While Mithourn and Leyfian went to their own tasks, the Highmage took the lead through the town with her two companions, frequently stopping in mid-step to look at a merchant’s goods or to buy a rolled up piece of flatbread with cheese and beans inside. Gelvir got one for himself also, but Marram was completely uninterested in such odd human food. The Boar preferred raw plant-based foods, like cabbage leafs and carrots, or fungi such as Hargirmian Shields and Dingy Caps. Farmers come to the market stalls offered plenty of all those, which Marram produced the coin to buy. He didn’t just pay outright for their ridiculous prices, however; he knew a fair amount of the Hargirmian tongue, and his speech with his intimidating size helped to lower the cost exponentially.

Once he was munching noisily on mushrooms and the like, Kanni spoke up, “So what do you two think of Leyfian’s odd plans? She hasn’t told us everything, but just the first part of the journey surprised me.”

Gelvir frowned slightly, fingering his helmet underneath an arm. “Thenmere makes sense to me—it’s the only decent port that can supply a ship to get over Oshyigar—but Murk is confusing to me, just like Jelril was. I don’t see what lady Leyfian wants with these broken ruins. The last one nearly got her killed, and it was no help. She won’t even say what she was looking for in Jelril.”

Kanni looked past Marram (who continued to eat contentedly) and to the Lower General. “Is that a hint of anger I hear?” she pointed out humorously. “I thought that you would never question Leyfian’s motives and remain loyal to her no matter what she did.”

“I am loyal,” Gelvir snapped unexpectedly, “but when she starts to endanger herself deliberately, it’s my duty to question her. And restrain her, if need be.”

The silence that followed was quickly broken by their third companion, who stopped tearing at cabbage leafs and pointed to a noisy drunkard. “Who wants to wager,” he said, “that I can pummel that one back to where he sprouted from?”

“What?” both Kanni and Gelvir asked at once.

Marram stuffed the last of his food into Kanni’s arms without another word, an arrangement of mushrooms, tubers and leafs. He then descended on the drunkard who was sitting lazily on a barrel, a huge lump of a man who was harassing anyone who passed close enough, cursing men and grabbing at women. The only reason he had gone unchallenged up to that point was because of his enormous mass. Which made him just about the right size for Marram.

Wordlessly, the boar walked to the besotted man, pulled back a furry black fist, and loaded it right into the drunk’s face. The offensive fellow tumbled back with a crash into some flowerpots and cried out in pain, dropping his mug of mead and clutching a bleeding nose. People instantly gravitated to the area in a wide, shifting ring, some in shock, others for entertainment. Kanni pushed between several bystanders to watch Marram closely, making certain that he wasn’t in danger.

The boar crossed his arms in domination as his unwitting opponent sat up groggily, struggling to stand in amongst shattered clay and mangled flowers. “Oh, give it up, man. You’re not going to defeat me even if you–”

The drunk leapt forward with a large pot in one hand, throwing the object at Marram and howling crazily with his mouth in a snarl. The boar protected his face with his shoulder, the pot breaking open upon contact, spraying dirt on the whole audience. He immediately followed with a countering strike, buffeting his enemy’s cheek and joggling the man’s skull. But of course, it didn’t end there, and the drunkard threw several wild blows himself, some landing but leaving Marram unaffected. The brawl ended when he toppled the large man with a fist to the chest. The drunk didn’t get up after that, but laid panting in a heap of dirt and clay.

The audience dispersed, and it appeared that some had wagered on the fight, the way some traded coins with each other.

Kanni gave him an incredulous stare as he came back to retrieve his food. “Why did you do that? I mean, I can see that he was a complete ass, but I didn’t expect you to . . . pummel him.”

He just shrugged in return and huffed through his nostrils. “He was a nuisance, and I need a brawl from time to time. I didn’t get to fight very often in Theargern because the soldiers would have rained steel on me like leafs in autumn.”

Gelvir just gave him a wary look and came between him and Kanni, as if to guard her. Marram noticed and swished his tail irritably. “You don’t have to worry about me flailing my fists left and right; I’m done for the day, and anyways, I wouldn’t hurt a sow, much less a tiny woman,”

Kanni made a choking noise. She was only an inch or two shorter than Gelvir, who was average height for a man in the north. “Tiny? I’m not that small, you-you . . .” she couldn’t think of what to name him, and stopped. Also, she had to trip around a dark, hairy Rove Beetle who had stopped in the middle of the busy street, his short, segmented antennae shifting in the air in search of something. His long abdomen trailed behind him like a thick tail when he moved on, his small mandibles clicking furiously in frustration. Maybe he was lost; Rove Beetles frequently said that they were looking for something, (to those who had learned their language, or used Telepathy on them) whether they were in Firemere or Yindyr, and none of them had yet found whatever that was. Thus, many people referred to their race as The Lost; the Rove Beetles belonged nowhere, and they were searching for something.

As they were returning back to the lodge, after an hour or so of wandering, Kanni had a random thought sprout in her head. “The Verdant Knolls just east of here have Treegrasses, don’t they? Yes, they do! I remember now,”

Gelvir hid an amused smile. Women always asked a question just to answer it themselves. Men did too, but not as often because of the virtue of not talking so much. “And what about them?”

“Well, I always wanted to see Treegrasses, and if we’re going to be stuck here for a few days, I thought that we could go look at them. It’s not far, if I remember correctly.”

“We?”

“You, me and Marram, if he wants. I don’t think Leyfian or Mithourn would be much interested.”

Marram snorted to himself, evidently trying to gain their attention, because when Kanni asked him what his problem was, he answered and said, “Treegrasses don’t grow to full size until at least late Mid Summer. Even someone like you should know that. They wouldn’t be a very impressive sight right now. It’s only just turned to Early Summer, if you forgot.”

Kanni was undeterred. “How tall would they be at this time of year?”

Marram looked around a bit, and then pointed to a one-story building that was about ten feet taller than he was, so around seventeen feet in total. “About that high. A shrunken willow would be taller.”

He didn’t sound very impressed, but Kanni felt her jaw drop. “You call that short? We are definitely going, and I’ll drag you both if you don’t want to come.”

Gelvir came back into the conversation at that point, just when they were entering the lodge. Cozy wood-paneled walls greeted them, and they walked up a set of creaking stairs. “You forget that I have a duty to guard Leyfian; I can’t leave her for two days.” Stoic as always.

“You mean that you won’t leave her. We can talk to her, and I’m sure she won’t mind, especially when she has Mithourn to keep her company.”

“You really are just an adventurous girl inside, aren’t you, Kanni?”

Her heart . . . fluttered . . . when he addressed her by name. She liked it when he did that; it made him feel closer somehow, just like when she called him by his name. “I am,” she answered his question with one of her characteristic smiles, though within, her mind was on fire. I am falling for Gelvir. I just can’t seem to get away from him. I don’t want to get away, and that’s the problem. Oh Creator, I don’t want to betray Ålund. I have to be careful, and keep it simple and innocent. Just talking and no hint of anything more. Damn it, I need to learn to make a Wormhole already.

They knocked on Leyfian’s door and were admitted by the sleepy woman, but she woke up the instant Kanni brought up her idea for a trip. She assented, though, saying that she couldn’t hold them back, but that they should at least be ready to go south the moment they got back, since it would take them two days to complete the trek.

They would have to leave that very day, so Kanni went to her room and prepared her things, which hadn’t even been unpacked. She wondered if she would regret going on the little journey.

Mithourn studied a pair of magpies on a clothesline between two buildings, long black tails hanging below them. Their breasts were white-plumed, their heads and backs as dark as charcoal. Aside form that, they were cackling and mocking a group of roving pigeons on the ground, pigeons who gave no notice to either the humans and animals walking about them or to the two magpies. Mithourn had seen many odd occurrences in his life of travels, and talking crows and ravens had become a normal fact of life for him. But magpies?

Walking over to them, he looked up to the laughing avians. “Who taught you to speak?” he asked in Hargirmian, the language they were speaking.

They ignored him. “ . . . Look at that twig of a man; he’s been struggling with that box for half the day. Ha! And that fool right there, asking dumb questions. What a dummy.”

Mithourn had been wrong. The two were poking at humans, not pigeons. “Where did you learn to talk?” he asked again.

The hen, with a black feather on her white breast to define her from the male, looked down at him and chirped angrily. “Listen here, fella, we’re working, so go bother someone else.” Her voice was soft but singsong.

Mithourn mouthed what she said silently. Working? What in Creation were they working on? “Does someone feed you? Do you have a home?” He was trying to get to a certain point, but it was proving futile to get there.

The male spoke up to that, his voice brighter and more sharp than his counterpart’s. “Go now, before you become the tail of our jokes,” he said gravely, as if he was performing some sort of favor by giving Mithourn fair warning.

“Do you want more food than you can eat on your own?” An odd thing to say, but sometimes there was no other way to gain an animal’s attention. It had been the same with Meer.

Both magpies instantly fell silent in their singing commentaries. One of them shitted in awe.

The High Captain went on, almost feeling a fool as he talked to the suddenly quiet corvids. “If you help me, I can promise you whatever kind of food you want, so long as it’s possible to obtain. That is, unless someone already owns you.” That caused an uproar.

“Nobody owns us!”

“We’re re-spon-si-ble adults!”

Mithourn raised his hands to show that he had been wrong. “All right, you made your point. What do you think of my offer? It would require traveling, but most of the time you could relax.”

Both of them shifted uneasily, exchanging sidelong glances. The male finally spoke up, looking to Mithourn with ruby eyes. “What would you want out of us?”

“Just your eyes,”

The hen puffed up with fright and squawked. “You want our what!?”

“Not literally!” he tried to smooth over, though it required him to shout to be heard above their screaming. He took a deep, calming inhalation when they finally quieted, trying to stifle his rising frustration. “I need you both as scouts, to fly over unfamiliar ground and come back to me to report what you see. Nothing that would be dangerous, not for you.”

The male trilled, clearing his voice, and then responded to Mithourn. “We’ll come and see how we like this idea for a . . . partnership. We want to know about food, lodging, transportation, work hours, bonus pay and job requirements.”

Mithourn fingered the bridge of his nose. The two birds were going to be trouble, whatever they chose to do at the end of the day. “Come on and follow me, we’ll discuss this at the inn.”

It was an odd procession, where the High Captain walked through the streets, making sure that the magpies followed him. They couldn’t just fly, otherwise they would have quickly outstripped him, so they hopped from a tavern sign to a stack of crates, glided to a market stall and then flitted to a mead barrel.

When they came to the lodge, Mithourn chose to hold the discussion in the stables where the pair of magpies would be less likely to make a mess. He walked in to see Kanni, Gelvir and Marram all saddling their horses, strapping on saddlebags. Well, Marram was just standing by and waiting impatiently.

As the two magpies flew in past him and took perches on the hayloft, Mithourn approached the man and woman. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

The Highmage quickly answered, a hint of defiance ringing in her voice. She always seemed to be put off by him. “We’re going on a little trip to see the Treegrasses to the east. We should be back by tomorrow evening.”

“You’re what!?” Mithourn sputtered. What was wrong with them? Could no one take their responsibilities seriously? “You’re supposed to—you know, forget it.”

“Forget what?” Kanni asked, tilting her head a little.

“Just go,” Mithourn growled, “and don’t waste time. We’ll likely be ready to leave when you get back.”

Oddly, she laughed at him when he said that. “That’s just what Leyfian said! You two are as different as carrots are from onions, but sometimes you’re like—like two magpies!” She had just noticed the two birds, and she pointed at them to prove her meaning. They silently observed her and the others but said nothing.

The High Captain just shook his head for annoyance, then fixed Gelvir with a firm glower. “I thought you at least were loyal to Leyfian, and less childish than Kanni.”

Gelvir’s own calm was ruffled at the mention of loyalty. “Lady Leyfian won’t suffer at my absence, not if you remain with her,” the Kingsguard retorted.

“She had better not,” he shot back. Sometimes it was just that one extra man who could turn back an attack or spot an ambush before it came. Nonetheless, he let the three fools go without another word, and turned to the magpies once the others were out of the stables. He would just have to do the work himself, of gathering supplies and maintaining the horses for the next part of the journey. But first, the magpies. “What do you need to know?” he asked them.

The male flitted to a door on one of the horse stalls. “We will need perches for on the road, and canopies if you stop us in an open field.”

“That’s easy enough,” he assured, “What else?”

The hen piped up next. “How do you plan to transport us? And when would you need us to scout for you?”

“You can ride on the back of my saddle, or on the pack horse’s, if you like. For scouting, I would only expect you to fly out in daylight hours, or when the moons make enough light to see by. Mostly, you’ll search for certain structures in the wild, or paths when I’m not using a road. That won’t be too often, I hope.”

“If you’re going to be in the wild, then how can you buy us any type of food that we like?”

“Just plan for what you want before we leave the city, and I’ll stock up on it.”

“Stock up on what?”

Mithourn was surprised to hear Leyfian’s voice well up behind him; rich and beautiful, pleasant to hear. The magpies screeched as they were caught unaware, fluttering quickly to the highest point in the stables. The Dakrynian walked up to him and looked to the skittish birds. She was short, even for a woman, reaching just below his shoulder for height, and she was slim to add to that. Her dress reached just to her knees, even as the dark outfit left her shoulders bare. Her recently cut hair had just started to brush against those slight shoulders, part of the raven mass held back in a horse-tail. It was a different dress then what she had worn while entering Jaek.

Leyfian was obviously very pretty, but Mithourn wasn’t concerned with her attractiveness at that moment. “I was negotiating with these two magpies, to get us some eyes in the air,” he explained, “I don’t think Murk will be an easy place to find, especially not on foot. Before you say that I’m crazy, the two can speak Hargirmian.”

She nodded, her verdant eyes locked on the birds, who were preening themselves unconcernedly. “That’s an excellent idea, Mithourn. What are their names?”

Since Hargirmian and Helkrasic were such similar languages, the magpies picked up the meaning of her last question and spoke before Mithourn could admit that he didn’t know the answer to her question.

“Tae,” the hen said simply.

The other took a deep breath, his feathers puffing out with his tiny thorax. “Pyka Hal Delligan Far Farric Vae Guaaha Daylow Waernmer Hanlok Jarel Von Hellic Quanma . . .” Another full inhalation followed. “. . . Jekliheirgalowonimittiluy–”

“Oh, shut up,” Tae broke in. “He always rambles on, and it comes out different every time. The only thing that remains the same is Pyka.”

Pyka looked offended at his companion’s statement. “I just recite my name at a different point each time,” he declared. “I was given a very long name,” he added, with a flare of his wings.

“Tae and Pyka,” Mithourn repeated.

In the end, the magpies decided to take Mithourn’s offer, and they even accompanied him to Leyfian’s room, where he had to discuss plans with the woman. They stood on the ledge of the open window, watching as the two humans pored over a large map of Hargirm, both of the birds silent for much of the time, unless they had a comment for a passerby far below on the streets.

Leyfian found a parchment and piece of charcoal, and began to write down the supplies they would need, while Mithourn gave the map another scan. She took a seat at the opposite end of the small table and continued her writing, scratching out the characters of the Helkrasic script. They were made up of straight and angled lines, and they always reminded her of little houses. “What gave you the idea to hire on Tae and Pyka?”

He looked at her with deep umber eyes, shifting his hands on the depiction of Hargirm. “Years ago, I found a baby raven who had fallen out of his nest in southern Helkras. He was only a little beat up, so I took him and named him Meer, raising him up just before my campaign into Mrithwintr.” He shivered at that. “He was very intelligent, because he managed to learn to speak after only a year. By the time we went to Mrithwintr, he was already scouting for my battalion and taking messages between contingents. He saved all of our hides several times up in the north.”

“What happened to him?”

Mithourn actually looked pained as he answered her. “He was shot through with an arrow right here in Hargirm, by the enemy.” He dug into the satchel at his hip and pulled out a single black feather. “This was all I kept of him. The rest I burned.”

She reached out and stroked the flight-feather delicately, and then took her hand away so Mithourn could take his keepsake back. “I’m sorry he died like that,” she sympathized. He just grunted in return. Leyfian frowned. He doesn’t have to be so hard; I need to soften him a bit, just so he doesn’t bite and claw me at every turn. They had been getting along better than when they had first met at Jelril, but he was still gruff to the heart, and she wanted to make him warm up to her, if just a little. “Why don’t you tell me about him? Meer, I mean,”

Giving her a suspicious look as if reading her intentions, Mithourn finally took a seat instead of standing over her like some sort of Titan Rhino. He passed a hand through his well-trimmed beard which had a few tinges of premature graying in it, and then spoke. “Meer was a philosophical prankster,” he began, laughing briefly. “He could be very serious and talk about the existence of things one minute, but when times allowed, he would break loose and throw food in your face, or tug at your ear as he perched on your shoulder. He had this weird habit of gnawing his foot when he was bored, and I would usually give him a marble or something to play with. Once, he even stepped into my ink pot and left prints all over my reports. He could be a lot of trouble, but I wouldn’t be alive today if not for him.”

Leyfian was surprised to hear him talk so long without needing more prodding; he was usually more curt and to the point. She liked to hear his voice directed at her, so she went forward and gave him another nudge towards conversation. “How did he save your life? You said he did so several times, so which was the first?”

“The first time was in north-eastern Helkras, near the boundary between Mrithwintr, the Unclaimed Territory and Tå`falun. He had scouted the area further north before we moved into Mrithwintr, but he returned to tell us that a pack of . . . beasts . . . was heading towards us. Ever heard of a Dengi before?” Leyfian shook her head. “Well, you don’t want to meet them. They’re a dozen times larger than a Mountain Wolf, and thrice as violent. As it was, Meer’s warning barely saved us, but it was the thing that preserved the battalion.”

Leyfian was never much interested in wars and the like, but she had heard of the campaign into Mrithwintr several times from her father and uncle, but they had never gone into detail about it—not when she was around. It seemed unique from the other wars, from how Mithourn referred to it. “Why did you go into Mrithwintr in the first place? I’ve not heard of the kingdom being upset with us over our presence.”

Mithourn settled back in his chair, the magpies chirping suddenly at the windowsill, singing for no reason. “That’s because King Brulsevr didn’t know we were there, or he just didn’t care. You see, nearly the whole population lives in Dalrakk, the capital, while the rest lives in a few southern towns or in nomadic clans. The rest is empty; all of the ancient cities are abandoned. Strange creatures were coming into Helkras from Mrithwintr and causing trouble in areas like Orinthra and Virån. Several battalions were ordered to destroy what had gotten in, and enter Mrithwintr secretly to clear the area of more beasts. We met a few bands of Mrithician clans but they ignored us for the most part, though two helped in some of the battles. They were used to the creatures.”

“You’re fully Mrithician by blood, right?” she asked, though she was fairly certain that he was. She just wanted to stimulate more conversation.

“That’s all of my heritage that shows, so I would say yes. I think I’ve told you about my upbringing. I never knew my true parents, and my adoptive father didn’t know who they were, either. He found me abandoned in the woods when I was eight. All I remembered was my own name. I forget that point in my life even now.” He almost reached for his amulet with its two metal symbols, but restrained his hand. It was the only possession aside from his clothes that he had been found with, when the hunter discovered him hiding in a hollow tree trunk, half-starved and terrified. Mithourn still wondered where he had truly come from, but there really was little point in pondering over it. He would never get the true answer.

“How is your father doing now? Is he still out in the woods hunting deer?” Leyfian inquired. Last she had known, Mithourn’s foster parent had still been alive, and only a little older than her own father.

“He died a few years ago. Sickness took him.” It was said without a waver, but his voice spoke pain in other ways, like how quietly he used it.

Regret coursed through her at having brought up such a terrible memory in him unwittingly, and she couldn’t help but reach out to take a hold of his hand. He recoiled a little at her touch, but probably just because he didn’t expect it. “I’m sorry that he passed,”

“Don’t be,” he returned stoically. “It was his time. He said so himself; those were his last words.”

Leyfian huffed and took her hand back. He wouldn’t even take her sympathy! Why did she even bother? She had thought that when he learned about Kelestil’s origins, he would soften towards her and perhaps they would grow closer, but no such thing had happened. She went back to writing her list, and he walked over to the magpies, who turned to chirp and talk with him. They were adorable little creatures, but she had too many important things to do than learn enough Hargirmian to converse with them.

Thoughts of Kelestil burst into her head, but only briefly, because it was too painful to think of the long road back home. She hoped that her daughter was doing well, enjoying what she loved best; horses and adventure. But not too much adventure—that could lead to mayhem.

The rest of the day and that of the next was occupied with gathering wares and goods, which could be hard to get when shopkeepers and farmers only specialized in one thing. They brought the plow-horse along and loaded her back with food, fodder, large baskets which were slung over the saddle and filled with more things. They expected to be in the wild for a time, so they needed more things than they would have if simply traveling from town to town. Lanterns and candles were bought, rope, hunting bows and arrows. Leyfian thought that a small box of sewing gear would be useful, both for clothing and horse tack, or wounds in the instance that both her and Kanni were injured, rendering their Healing skills useless. Mithourn bought food for Pyka and Tae, meat, cheese, fruits and seeds. They ate some and then had him store the rest away for later.

Those two days of preparing harbored some relaxed conversation and a few small arguments, usually about plans for travel that they disagreed on. Mithourn seemed content to leave their relationship as it was, but Leyfian couldn’t stop thinking of ways to get him to open up to her. He was like a closed box, and she was going to find a way to pry him open.

The Treegrasses were majestic and tall, each blade of grass thick as a man’s thumb. They were as Marram said, about twenty feet in height, green and with buds of blooms that were yet to sprout. Treegrass might have counted as a type flower if not for its habit to act as grass. The endless plains of Treegrass started just on the east side of Laughing Otter River, where cultivated crops ended, and the wild began. The towering grasses were harvested in late autumn when it died off for the year, but aside from that, no one bothered the area.

Fruitpickers—birds with wide, gray-mottled wings and long, curved beaks—flitted in amongst the canopy level of the grasses, hovering and then landing on the unopened buds, tearing into them and eating the blooms. Dragonflies flew around the banks of the river, eating mosquitoes and midges. A coiled water snake lazed on a group of branches which were half-submerged in the slow moving river.

By the blinding light of noon, Gelvir studied the thick grasses, his steed’s reins in hand as he walked on foot after Kanni. Marram was behind him, muttering something about the grasses only being a quarter-grown. He was unimpressed with the grasses, so far, but Gelvir and Kanni were sufficiently awed. They were following the edge of the grassland, along the shore of the river where there was a small pathway of dirt.

The Lower General watched the Highmage with some pleasure; her light-colored riding dress suited her well, and she had a slight, natural sway to her walk which was very attractive.

Kanni suddenly stopped, tying her mare to a tree stump. “Let’s go into the grasses from here. Watch out for ticks, pea-brains,” she added, and laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Knowing where a tick might be in the unbroken fields of grasses was an impossibility.

Marram growled that he always had to contend with ticks; Boars had too much fur to search through to remove all of the parasites, but they had grown immune to any diseases the pests carried, so it was of little consequence.

Tying his horse near to Kanni’s, he followed the woman towards the solid wall of Treegrass, seeing no way to push through without getting scraped, bruised and bit short of cutting through it all. The mage used Kinetic Magic to divide the grasses to make a path for herself, reminding Gelvir that she was an adept Magic-wielder. The Treegrasses rustled noisily as they were rubbed against each other.

While the two humans went into the grasses, the boar took his leisure and sat on a rock, dipping his hooves into the running water of the river. “You two go on,” he said, raising a hand for a temporary farewell. “I have enough ticks as it is, the stupid burs . . . Don’t have too much fun, and don’t step in a patch of Deathweed.” Obviously he meant that figuratively, because Deathweed only grew in the far south, but what could he be warning against?

Kanni gave Gelvir a confused look, shrugged, then went into the Treegrasses, carving out the path with Kinetic Magic as she went along. He went after her, stepping carefully around the stalks of the grass, keeping the woman in sight. His head was soon swimming with ideas, but he put them down, though with an effort. It didn’t matter that they were alone with optimal privacy; he wouldn’t make an advance on her since she was married, and he had better forget about her recent attention for him. Still, he couldn’t get her out of his mind . . .

They went up a slight incline together, frightening a flock of Fruitpickers and sparrows out of a niche in the forest of grass, causing a horned lizard to scurry into a hole from fright. At the top, Kanni cleared a small space, looked around at the blades of grass for several moments. Then she plopped down and sat on a green cushion of Kinetic-trampled stalks, gesturing for Gelvir to take a seat. When he did, she gave him such an intent look that he had to calm his heart and take a deep breath.

“I wanted to tell you a story,” she said, closing her eyes, hands on her knees. “A story from my childhood,” When she opened her eyes again, they were glistening, but she smiled despite that.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“I only tell people that I’ve gotten close to about this,” she murmured, half to herself, and then spoke more clearly. “I started showing Magical abilities when I was very young, by the time I was five. I could only do very simple Magic of course, but when I was messing around with a pile of rocks and some Kinetic Magic . . . it happened.” She laughed from an old joy. “One of the rarest things on all of Galithour happened to me. I . . . I tapped into a well of Unfeasible Magic, something that many mages would kill for, if killing would give it to them. The chances of me tapping into one were nearly impossible—experts say that only one Unfeasible Magic Reserve is used every ten years!—but it happened, nonetheless. Most would claw at their hair if they knew that the Magic Reserve of the decade had been used by a toddler who was moving rocks around for fun. Anyways, when all of that Magic flowed through me . . . it was like an ocean the size of a universe pouring out of me in a second’s time. Of course, anything could have happened from there; I might have shaken the continent, or perhaps I could have shifted every rock and pebble on the world, but instead of doing something like that, the well of Magic took my little pile of rocks and . . .” She giggled again, though sadness tinged her voice. “The rocks were filled with more Soul, enough to give them life and a consciousness. They melded together to make a stone toad, one who could roll up into a ball and scurry around. He had little glowing green eyes like candle-flames, and he croaked all the time, though it only sounded stony coming out of him. His actual voice resounded in my mind, and only mine, a Telepathic connection that was made when he was brought to life. I named him Maric, and he followed me around everywhere. My brother didn’t like him very much, but that didn’t matter; he was my friend who I could always talk to, one who always understood me and could help me when I was lonely or afraid. Of course, he was always there when times were nice, too, and he only made them better.”

The Lower General digested all of it mentally, and then caught up with her quick, passionate speech. “What happened to him?” He hadn’t realized that they were sitting so close together.

“I had him with me for three years, but he could only live so long with the Magic that brought him to life. He faded away when I was eight, turning to dust one day before I knew what was happening. I had always hoped since then that I could bring him back to life someday, but I don’t know if that’s possible. Has anyone ever faded from your life, who you didn’t want to?” She wasn’t sobbing, but tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks and tried to gather at her chin, until she wiped them away.

“No, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I don’t want you to fade away,”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open a trifle. “W-what?” she stammered. He had never been so bold before. “I don’t want you to fade away, either, but I—mmmpf!” Her eyes really popped open when Gelvir took her by the shoulders and kissed her. She grabbed at his cuirass and first made to push him away, but then pulled him closer, her eyes closing in the relish of his touch.

I can’t do this to Ålund! Firmly pushing him away, she hesitated to take her lips off of his, but then forced herself to, and stood quickly, stumbling a little from her hurry.

Gelvir didn’t know what had Possessed him to do that—he had been so sure that he could resist—and he almost felt regret at having done it. Except, Kanni had given back in the kiss, however strange it had been with her pulling back and rushing forward. Perhaps she had wanted it as much as he had. He stood slowly and observed her, not really sure what to think, with his mind so jumbled.

Kanni licked her lips and shook her head of any fog. “Never again,” she announced, firmness hardening her voice. “We won’t speak of this day ever.” Despite her words, she sounded more like she was resisting a temptation than putting him off out of anger. However, when she went around him and followed her path out of the Treegrasses, she stalked with her fists clenching and loosening repeatedly.

When they returned to the river, she was brisk with Marram and told him that they were done with sightseeing and ready to return to Jaek. She let Gelvir take the lead on the return journey, staying far behind while Marram took up the middle on hoof.

The Kingsguard glanced back at her briefly and then turned in his saddle to face the road, sighing regretfully to himself. He did feel guilt, a few moments after the act. He had made Kanni uncomfortable, pushed her away, and likely made her feel like a traitor to her husband. And, he had felt her once, so he wanted her more than ever. His months-long journey had just gotten twice as difficult.

On the twilight of the third, Leyfian was glad to welcome Kanni and Gelvir back. And Marram, though she didn’t know him so well. They all stayed in her room for an hour or more, recounting a little of their excursion, and then Leyfian told them the plans she and Mithourn had come up with, her speech intermixed with the High Captain’s own blunt input. The magpies were introduced to them, but the birds were too sleepy to talk much, and they were soon set on their perches, slumbering while the humans went on.

All summed up, they were to leave the very next morning, following an old dirt-packed road which led south and slightly west. It would pass through the Wet Timberland, a marsh of stagnant lakes, slow-moving rivers and islets of forest. Just the mention of it made Marram grumble and curse to himself, though Leyfian had no clue why he would be so upset over it.

They would take the road south all the way to a few miles north of Oshyigar, where Leyfian hoped to find Murk, an undated ruin in the mountains. Historians and archaeologists could guess when the place was abandoned, but they couldn’t say when it was first made.

After everyone was sure on what was required of them for the day to come, they dispersed to get what rest they could. Marram sprawled out on his bed and quickly fell asleep in his room. Kanni meditated cross-legged on her mattress, her mind torn in several directions and allowing no sleep. Gelvir practiced a few sword-forms in his small chamber, also in meditation. Mithourn took Pyka and Tae to his room since they were his responsibility, falling unconscious to their warbling snores. Leyfian laid on her bed for a while, playing with her colored lights who whispered small noises in the dark. She tried to forget her problems for the time that it took her to fall asleep, and she succeeded, but when early dawn arrived to wake her, they flooded down on her again.

Combing her hair and braiding the back half, she worried over Kelestil. Washing her face and rubbing her teeth with a cloth brought her troubling thoughts of Mithourn. Maybe if she dressed more alluringly he would stop shoving her off . . . When she got to dressing in a modest riding outfit, albeit one that accentuated her curves with its cut and some ruffles, she forgot about Mithourn and went on to think about her quest.

Stupid, pointless quest. What will father think when I come back empty-handed, and Kelestil, when I abandoned her for nothing? Those thoughts ceased as she strapped on her boots and her heart murmured in her chest, fluttered, skipped a beat and then went on normally. And my Cursed heart! It’s going to just stop one day for no reason, and then I’ll be dead! Anger seethed in her, and she stamped a foot as she gathered her things onto her bed. That was when she felt it.

A sensation . . . crawled . . . in her lower abdomen, making her think of the growing roots of a tree. She felt it right under the healed flesh where she had gotten the stab wound from the Deadwight of Jelril. But it had expanded from there, pushing up towards her stomach, and down through her crotch. Then the whole sensation suddenly . . . clenched. It felt like tendrils had grown through her, to finally stiffen and anchor in her flesh.

She moved experimentally and felt at herself under her garments, but there was no remaining sensations, and nothing seemed to be amiss. Just my imagination, or a freak coincidence. She decided to keep it to herself unless it happened again, but that didn’t mean that it stopped bothering her in the back of her mind.

Another problem to torture me along the way. I wonder which one is going to kill me?

Chapter XXX

Traveling with Magpies

5th of Early Summer, 376, 5th Era – Wet Timberland, Central Hargirm

Pyka and Tae glided high over the deciduous forest together, weaving complex patterns in midair even as they scanned the ground below. The canopy was thick with green, and the woods extended beyond the horizon and their sight, so they saw little, though the midday sun was bright. The foliage was just too thick; what did Mithourn expect them to see? He had said to look for a marsh, but neither of them had even heard of the place. Maybe some birds in the area could point them to it.

Pyka was about to swing low and land in the trees to look for an informed avian who knew directions, when he saw something in the west. Tae chirped victoriously at him when they saw that the forest became thin, spotty and uncertain in the distance. They arrived at the edge of the unbroken forest to see that it had formed a wall around a wetland of islets and murky water. The watery area sloped unnoticeably downwards, towards an unseen center which likely was a hundred miles towards the south.

Flying low, the two magpies circled the area, eating a dragonfly here, a mosquito there. The place swarmed with them, and Pyka thought that he and Tae would enjoy the swamp very much if the insects persisted in such clouds. They searched along the wall of the forest, looking for a road, and found a pitiful excuse for one. It was a tumbled, overgrown path of dirt that followed the dry ridges of land which cut through the swamp, going over decayed stone bridges when the landscape gave no natural access to go onward. It went south and west, just like Mithourn had said it would. How did humans know what a place would look like when they had never seen it? He had predicted a village just outside of Jaek, and then the forest that they had been flying over, and now something as specific as a road and which direction he pointed to. He talked a lot with the one green-eyed woman, so maybe she was the one who actually knew where each landmark would be. It had to be Magic; those pieces of paper that Mithourn pointed to as ‘maps’ couldn’t explain his uncanny talent to know where things were.

They wheeled through the air and doubled back, gaining height until once again the wind-rippled trees were far below them. Both magpies were skilled in directions, but Mithourn had insisted that the curly-haired woman make Magic Lights to help guide Tae and Pyka back. They saw a colorful red light burst high in the air a mile or so distant, the first to go off. She would make one every half-minute until they came back.

Perhaps she has the Magic that tells the humans where things are, Pyka mused. Kanni certainly showed more Magic ability than Leyfian, but Mithourn talked to her about a quarter as much as he did Leyfian.

A green light blew up just ahead of them, and that was when Pyka first noticed the Gold-Beaked Hawk stooping on them. The raptor must have seen them from miles above, because she had gained incredible speed. There were only seconds left to respond. “Hawk above!” Pyka squawked to his mate.

Instead of panicking, they both dived downwards, plummeting towards the forest, hoping to get under the foliage before the Hawk caught them up. They heard the predator’s distinctive screech, but didn’t bother to look behind them; aside from the movement being pointless, it would ruin their momentum and divert their path of descent.

Leafs and branches rushed into Pyka’s face, whipping at his eyes and wings. He chirped and squeaked as he tumbled through the canopy, unable to control his fall. His plumage protected him most of the way down, but he still gained bruises, and his legs were given to the mercy of the trees, which didn’t extend far. Better than a rock, but not by much.

When a long drop extended below him, after falling through the foliage of the trees, he spread his wings quickly and glided clumsily to the ground. He landed on the old forest road that Mithourn and his company had been following for a day and a half. As soon as he landed, he twisted around, hopped a few steps, then called out to Tae. There was no answer.

He called again, receiving nothing but the ghost of a whisper. The magpie scurried around the base of a large cottonwood, hopping over planks of fallen bark and Jellycup mushrooms, and finally looked up. To his horror, he spotted Tae, but she was caught in a thick, rope-like web. The Gold-Beaked Hawk was trapped in the sticky tethering as well, snapping her shining beak angrily at Tae who was just out of reach. She seemed to understand that they would both be meals that day, and she hated it. Bird bones and feathers littered the web and the ground beneath it, with a scattering of squirrel and mouse remains. Rope Spiders were formidable predators.

Tae moaned something incoherent, her voice thickly tinged with unconsciousness. A hairy, spike-legged spider crawled out of a hole in the cottonwood, the arachnid lazily oozing onto his web and approaching the hawk cautiously.

Without a thought, Pyka took flight and went down the road to where he knew Mithourn and the others to be waiting, flapping his wings in rough imitation of a blurring bee’s. A fool might have struggled to try and free Tae, but he was no idiot and knew that he would only get trapped in the attempt. The humans were Tae’s only chance of freedom.

Pyka heard another one of Kanni’s lights go off overhead. “MITHOURN!”

Mithourn sighed and hefted his pike when he heard Pyka’s urgent voice echo down the lane of the forest; he sensed a problem hurtling towards him in the form of a feathery bomb. As expected, the magpie flew around a bend in the road and collided with him, landing on his breastplate only to tug at him in a hurry.

“Tae’s about to be eaten, come quickly!” was all Pyka said, before he took off down the road again.

Leyfian and the others looked at Mithourn in question, but he didn’t waste time. “Let’s go,” he said, mounting Thistle and urging the mare into a fast trot after the flitting magpie. No one uttered a word as they climbed into their saddles and rode after him. Marram obviously just gathered the reins of the plow-horse and trotted alongside her, but he was Mithourn’s closest follower despite being on his own hooves.

It didn’t take long for Pyka to lead them all the way back to Tae, though such speed still didn’t seem swift enough for him. The Rope Spider was trying to subdue a squawking and cheeping hawk, who was clawing and biting for all she was worth. Kanni alleviated the both of them from struggle by using Kinetic Magic to lift the spider off his web and make him float helplessly in the air two feet away from everything, objects and living beings alike. He hissed and glared out at everyone with his many crimson eyes, beating his eight legs in the air pointlessly. Pyka visibly calmed after that, and waited anxiously for someone to free his mate.

Marram, who could speak to the little fellow, went up to the enormous web and reached up easily to pluck Tae off of the web, though it did not prove so easy. Eventually he had to take out a knife of his and carve out the webbing around the hen, until her and a square of ragged tethering was freed from the mother web. His knife was plastered in gunk, and his fingers were stuck to the sticky lines until he pulled them off, losing bits of fur in the process. He had to clip Tae’s feathers to free her from the webbing, but he got no grateful outburst from her. She laid in his hand, unconscious and breathing slowly.

Marram allowed Pyka to take a perch on his other hand, letting the magpie study his silent companion. “Must have taken a hit to the head, like the kind of blow you can get sitting under a Head-Bopping Pine,” Marram explained.

By that point, Mithourn had used his pike to release the Gold-Beaked Hawk from her imprisonment, and he certainly got no appreciation from the raptor; more of a reprove and a glare. She didn’t wait for him to help her out of her dressing of webs, but instead stalked slowly off down the road, struggling against the bonds and trying not to stick to anything. None of the webs stuck to his pike; he had just rubbed oil on it that morning to prevent rust.

Before putting the melon-sized spider back, Kanni floated him closer to herself. Gelvir reached out a hand, calling out her name in caution, but she just gave him a sharp look and then turned back to the spider. She poked the angry creature on the head with a gloved finger before she placed him back on his ruined web, hissing and thrashing.

After she was done with that, she looked to Marram and pulled her mare in beside him. “Let me see if I can help her,” she said, putting out both her hands to take a hold of Tae. He carefully put the magpie in her significantly smaller hands. Pyka hopped from Marram’s one arm to his other, and then flitted to the horn of Kanni’s saddle, closely observing the mage and what she was doing. He was absolutely silent from worry.

The Highmage concentrated on the bird in her hands, forcing Healing Magic to her hands. The power didn’t necessarily have to come out of her hands, but it was usually only very skilled mages who could Heal someone with a look. She didn’t know what ailed the little animal, so she might have been Healing nothing, but she doubted that. In any circumstance, she couldn’t have made it worse. As a finalizing touch, she Modified Tae’s clipped feathers, extending the shortened ones to their original length, stretching them out like rubber. Once done, she asked Leyfian to empty one of the little baskets on the plow-horse’s back and hand it to her, getting a quick reaction from the woman who was technically her superior. When she had the container, she set Tae in it with a thick cloth for padding. Pyka hopped into it and settled down beside her.

Mithourn shook his head, watching the waddling hawk struggle down the road. He turned back to his companions. “Let’s go on,” he stated, swinging into Thistle’s saddle. He had become the group’s leader, in a way, though he would listen to Leyfian’s demands if he thought them prudent, which they usually were. Otherwise he would argue, apparently forgetting that she was a King’s daughter. Maybe not an heir to any throne because of Mawing’s plans to turn Helkras into a republic, but still a King’s child. The way she argued back, it seemed that she had forgotten as well.

Eventually, Mithourn got a few words out of Pyka and confirmed that the road continued through the swamp, so they wouldn’t have to prepare to skirt the whole biome. At least, he hoped they wouldn’t. The path could always end abruptly right in the center of the Wet Timberland, in which case they would be doomed to retrace their steps and find another way south.

They passed several streams and rivulets, the land becoming increasingly wet and sloping downward in intervals, turning into marshland within a few miles’ stretch. Marram cursed to himself.

The road was muddy and frequently overridden by water, the forest floor still blanketed in leafs and litter from the last autumn. Jellycups grew in patches everywhere, accompanied by Hargirmian Shields and the ever-present Dingy Cap, which grew almost everywhere. Birds chirped or whistled throughout the forest; a squirrel chided the travelers from high above.

The road went up an incline abruptly, and then exited the forest, showing the scattered copses and islets of the marsh, the nearly solid wall of trees that lined it. The road dipped back down near the water again but followed a dry ridge that meandered through the swamp of Gnarled Cypresses, rushes, reeds and cattails. Drinking Moss hung off of everything. A Gulping Heron waded through the waters, searching the murkiness for fish and amphibians.

The group went down into the swamp, following the uncertain dirt road, the horses’ hooves frequently slogging through mud. Despite his cursing about monsters rising out of the marsh, Marram didn’t seem to mind the globs of soil gathering on his hooves and ankles. He did swat at the midges and mosquitoes like the rest, however. Insects sung wildly in the swamp, shrill, piercing noises that soon faded into the background.

There was little talk as they went along; Gelvir and Kanni seemed to have run into an argument which prevented them from speaking to each other anymore, and Mithourn thought that silence was best for the moment. He couldn’t have said what Leyfian’s reasons for quiet were, but she seemed worried. The High Captain hoped that it wasn’t over anything too serious—the poor woman had enough troubles as it was, without a need to add more. He studied her face with a sidelong glance, seeing how pretty she was with her short hair framing her face, her soft nose coming to an attractive point, and her emerald eyes fluttering over the ground passing beneath her.

He sighed under his breath and looked forward. Still, he could hardly believe that he was Kelestil’s father. It made him feel very close to Leyfian in a detached way. That almost made no sense, but it was how he saw it. He hardly knew her from the young woman he had once known, yet they had created a child together from one night’s passion. It still heated his blood to know that he hadn’t been given the truth about Kelestil when it would have made a difference, or given the chance to raise her as his own. He knew that there was no chance now, not when Kelestil was so ingrained with being fatherless. At this point it would be difficult for Leyfian to mend her relationship with her daughter. Our daughter, he thought darkly, I have to remember that.

That day went by slowly, the road becoming monotonous, tiresome. By nighttime, they found a suitable spot to make a camp, on a steep hill that was raised a hundred feet out of the swamp. None of the moons were out in the night sky, so they had to rely on Magic and firelight to make illumination. Marram took a watch over the camp for half the night simply because he trusted no one else to recognize danger in a place he considered to be perdition. Kanni used their food stores to cook a stew over the fire, a tasty meal made with potatoes and diced meat, in the Helkrasic style.

The only miraculous thing to happen that night was Tae’s awakening. Pyka instantly sung in excitement and nuzzled her with his beak while she tottered around in their basket. When he quieted, they talked in low voices for a little while before giving in to instinct and falling asleep for the night.

Mithourn exhaled in relief when he saw that Tae was healthy; he still had two good scouts as assets. He was also just glad that the little scamp was all right.

In the next morning, he woke to a hazy dawn predominated by Dus`ridyian in the sky. Bæl`diis and Orøs quickly came into the heavens as well, just before Dus`ridyian spun out of sight, beyond the western horizon.

The group woke, and the women took turns dressing into a different outfit behind the plow-horse, who gave suitable decency when draped with a blanket. Both Kanni and Leyfian cycled between two or three good dresses, trying to keep any one of them from gaining too much wear. Mithourn just changed his trousers and tunic before strapping his armor back on, and Gelvir did a similar ritual.

When they set out on their trek, Leyfian plopped on a straw hat to hide her face from the sun, which would soon beat down on them like a hammer. Kanni just looked to her saddle when it became too bright, her curly hair being enough protection for her face. It had grown to just below her shoulders, and she often complained of it hiding ticks too easily, but she showed no desire of cutting it. Marram helped her comb through it at nights to check for parasites, since he was so good at the task. A little hair was nothing to scan through compared to an entire pelt of fur.

Leyfian rode a small distance ahead, walking her horse at a fair pace like everyone else, bobbing up and down in her saddle with skillful ease. Mithourn hadn’t realized that she had gotten ahead of him and trotted Thistle to regain the lead; he preferred to be the trailblazer, to find the hidden dangers before anyone else was stupid enough to trip over them. He didn’t think that Leyfian was stupid, but the woman was staring at her saddle almost as much as Kanni was.

He laid his pike across his knees—blade pointed away from Leyfian—and settled his horse to ride beside hers. Hearing Marram talking with the magpies who were perched on the plow-horse’s back, he tried to put aside their murmuring and studied Leyfian. He felt suddenly drawn to her and decided to say something. “Do you know what you’re looking for in Murk? You’ve avoided the question up to this point, and I think that your traveling companions at least should know.” An odd question that quickly turned to a demand, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and it was relevant.

Leyfian was silent for a moment, likely thinking of a clever answer which would deflect him and his questioning, but what she said was quite blunt. “I don’t know. All I’m looking for is a history, but what exact history is anyone’s guess, and I have no idea what I’ll find.”

“And King Mawing sent you on this quest? It doesn’t sound important enough to warrant putting you in danger.”

She might have bristled at his judgment of her father’s wisdom, but she could easily see his point of view, and she almost felt the same way, even with her insight on the subject. Also, his last comment had sounded like a show of care for her, because his voice had been tinged with a little anger. She just hoped that it wasn’t anger at having been stuck with her. “He sent me because the knowledge I may find could easily go to the wrong hands,”

“You mean Quix,” Mithourn pointed out.

“He is one who definitely shouldn’t have it, but others could easily use the knowledge for evil, as with any information.”

That sent him on a tangent of thoughts about Quix and the Srinaj. Hafkil and Mawing had spoken of him like a supernatural demon from a legend, but he thought it more likely that the troublemaker was a man assuming the name from a forgotten tale. He hadn’t even heard of the name until Hafkil brought it up. Besides, demons were wild things that attacked from out of thin air and for no reason; they didn’t prepare and forge a destructive plan over years of time. The Kuldaki were an example of feral evil—he knew them as reality.

“What’s wrong?” Leyfian asked abruptly.

He hadn’t realized that his face had contorted in horror. “Just a memory,” he answered bluffly, and then switched the subject around. It would be better to get his mind off the recollection. “Do you still sing like you used to?”

She was instantly taken aback, her cheeks flushing, heart fluttering nervously and making an odd rhythm which most people would never suffer, if they had a healthy inner pump. “I-I haven’t sung in years, and anyways, I was never very good at it.”

“I always thought you were,” Mithourn commented placidly.

Blushing more fiercely, she bit her lip with a little shyness. “Maybe I’ll try again sometime,” she hinted, thinking that she would certainly practice before she tried it in front of him.

Mithourn just nodded silently, about the best gesture of approval that she could hope for. She found his stoic, strong attributes to be appealing, but she wanted him to open up and show a warmer side at least every so often. He was like a stone, and she wanted to find the geode inside. “Will you tell me now about where you’ve been throughout these years?” she began, but only after a deep breath to gain courage. An angry, snappish response was not what she intended to get out of him. “I want to hear more about you.”

Clearing his throat, Mithourn thought about it for a second. What was he willing to tell her? “When I left your service as a Kingsguard, I went back to Helkras, but I wasn’t there for long before I was sent off to Caldkere, to help end that little feud the Cyser caused when he burned our ships. That whole venture lasted about a year before I came back to Helkras—again, briefly—and then was shot off into Tå`falun. It was just a guarded tour, really, where the chieftains of the cities showed off what little they had to display so we could report back to Helkras that a trade deal would be beneficial. After that came Mrithwintr.” Stopping there with a shake of his head, he steered Thistle around a young tree which had sprouted in the middle of the road, Leyfian going around the other side.

When they came back together Leyfian spoke in Mithourn’s silence. “When I was separated from the King of Amarnthra, I just came back home and raised Kelestil. I haven’t gone far from home until recently, and I have to say that I would rather be at home right now. A little trip here and there is just fine, but I hate being on the road for so long. What about you? Do you miss home a lot?”

“I don’t have a home,” Mithourn stated dryly. “Ever since I left my father’s house and joined the military, I’ve never been in one place for long, and if I was, I never considered it my home.”

“What about friends? They can be like a home when they’re with you.” She would know; Kanni and Gelvir were what made her journey seem somewhat sane and bearable. Even Mithourn added to that, since they had known one another so well for a period of time.

The High Captain studied the road ahead, and the decrepit stone bridge that they were approaching. “I learned years ago to stop making friends; they always die once you start to rely on them.”

“I’ve not had that experience,” Leyfian sniffed. Was the man a stone? She was sincerely beginning to wonder.

“And I’m glad you haven’t,” he said with surprising softness in his voice. “I think you need friends more than I do.”

“What about Pyka and Tae?”

“They’re my scouts, not comrades.”

“But Meer was, so what will prevent them from becoming closer?”

Mithourn was quiet for a moment. He turned in his saddle to look behind himself at the two magpies who were gibbering with each other while Marram listened silently. Looking back to Leyfian, he answered her. “Well, I’ll just make sure that they don’t die like Meer did.” A slight smile crept across her lips when he said that, but he couldn’t have guessed why.

“What of Kanni and Gelvir? Do you consider them as friends?”

“Gelvir and I can relate on a few things, but not much more. Kanni . . . she and I strike sparks whenever we talk, and not in a good way. You’ve seen how she likes to contradict me just for the entertainment of it. I think she has a grudge against me.”

Leyfian opened her mouth, but then closed it again, heart laboring inside of her. She was too nervous to ask what he thought of her, so she fell quiet, looking around at the marshy landscape, the moons in the sky.

“Don’t slouch,” Mithourn cautioned from nowhere. “it’s not good for posture.”

“I can do what I want,” she snapped back.

“But do you really want to?”

Slowly, she straightened in her saddle, throwing her shoulders back and pushing her chest out. She hadn’t realized that such a simple change of stance could make her look so busty. That thought almost made her blush, but she didn’t slouch for the rest of the day, or for much of the next.

Each day was much alike to the rest; traveling with a swamp and trees for company. When it came time to stop for the night, they searched for a high ridge or hill to sleep on, lulled into sleep by Creakers and other types of toads, insects and churning waters from running streams. One night had enough misfortune to set them on a low islet with not more than a foot’s height above the surrounding waters. Marram stayed awake all night muttering to himself, watching little wispy lights hover above the expansive waters. It truly was torture for the boar to be stuck in the marsh for so long; he constantly suspected that creatures would jump out of the water to drag him under the mud. Pyka and Tae kept his mind off of worrying over beasts when they told him their many tales about the stupidities of humans.

About ten days in, the Boar was laying back on a fallen tree and napping with the magpies perched nearby, the horses hobbled at the base of a great cottonwood. It was a bright day, and a windy one. The companions had stopped to prepare a midday meal over a fire, to combat the usual diet of dried meat and bread. Marram opened his eyes when the cotton tree sung majestically from a strong gust of wind. It made him think of his mate, who had been named after the trees. He was sure that she and their offspring were happily living out their day in the Giant Birchwood, a thought that made him content. Blinking, he took his hands from behind his head and sat up, sniffing the frying meat that Leyfian was stirring about in a large pan. He wouldn’t partake in their meal, both because he would require more sustenance than they could cook at one time and because he didn’t eat meat. He picked up the stalk of a cattail that lay in a pile nearby and gnawed on that.

Mithourn was feeding the fire and listening to Leyfian chatter about crows in Caldkere, and Kanni was sitting nearby Marram, chopping up an onion on a little wooden board. Gelvir crouched next to her and said something in a low voice, instantly gaining a blank look from the Highmage. Marram’s ears twitched. Something about a kiss?

“I told you I didn’t ever want to talk about it,” Kanni hissed in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry if I led you on, but just try to forget it. Yes, I accept your apology, now leave me alone.”

Gelvir stood and walked off with a frustrated expression evident on his face. Kanni looked to her onion.

Leaning forward to get a good look at her down-turned visage, Marram scratched his ears. “Having an argument with your partner?”

Kanni stiffened at that. “My what? No! I have a husband, if you remember.”

“I thought the way you were rubbing noses back in Theargern meant that you were . . .” he ended abruptly after he saw her mortified expression. He switched to a question instead. “You can’t have more than one mate?” It was common for Boars to have several mates. He had just been too attached to Cotton to bother with any other sows.

“I could, but I only want one.”

“Then what was all that about a kiss?” the black boar inquired.

“What kiss?” the woman asked with an innocent stare.

Marram just rolled his eyes and laid on his back again, chewing on the sausage-like end of a cattail and staring at the two moons in the sky. It was so bright.

Just a few days later, the swamp was barraged with storms that exploded with thunder and drenched the land even more. The storm lasted for three days, pelting them noon and night with wetness and cold. They moved especially slow on those days but never stopped their long treks. In the dry morning that followed, they were greeted with thick clouds overhead, and an unusually cool breeze. They soon got to moving on the quaggy road (after Kanni dried their clothing off with Wind and Fire) but it was not long before they started hearing odd noises; Kanni soon labeled the sounds akin to wailing frogs, and Marram growled on about bog beasts about to descend on them. It wasn’t until Gelvir pointed out a pool of bubbling mud that they discovered the culprit.

“The Singing Mud,” Leyfian murmured.

Mithourn just squinted at her. “The what?”

She sat up straight in her saddle and tossed her hair out of her face. “I read it in a book once, years ago. This is a phenomenon known as the Singing Mud because of the strange noises it makes. There should be dozens of these pools nearby. No one knows what causes them, but they shift every couple of years or so, if what I read is true.”

Kanni cringed as a belching noise escaped the churning mire. “Well, it’s singing is terrible. It sounds like a dying pig now. Or like one of Mithourn’s burps.”

The High Captain suppressed an exhalation—Kanni would poke at him even if she had to make stories up, like she just had. If he had been so obnoxious as one of the mud pits, someone would have commented on it before then. “Let’s just keep moving,” he said, waving them on and following his own words.

For an hour or so, they were encompassed with the noises of the Singing Mud; wails, croaks, more belches, creaks, howls, and groans. The women were mainly disturbed and upset with the noises, the men silent and unperturbed, but every so often Kanni would burst into laughter at a particularly ridiculous noise and label it. The magpies laughed, too, though their cackles sounded like crazed cheeps and trills.

The road continued to draw them south and west, always close to fading or disappearing in a muddy ditch, but always somehow getting revived and leading them a few more miles through the swamp. Marram stopped most of his complaining, though he would jump whenever a Creaker hopped out of the murky water towards him. Kanni and Gelvir continued to be on silent terms, but Mithourn and Leyfian picked up speech in their absence, frequently joined by Kanni when she couldn’t hold back any longer.

By the twenty-second of Early Summer, mountains loomed ahead of them to the south, tumbled and eroded peaks which were thickly forested to their tops. Finally, they exited the swamp and entered a moist, green deciduous forest which was only a little drier than the Wet Timberland. Marram relaxed visibly as they passed the first clear pool of water, joined by a fast-moving creek. The flora and fauna quickly changed as they gained elevation; the Gnarled Cypresses, rushes, reeds and cattails quickly diminished and then disappeared except where there was sitting water, and oaks, maples, cedars and thorny underbrush took their place. Fungi abounded just as easily in the forest as in the swamp. Elk wandered the woods, and chipmunks showed themselves as well. Marram plucked a skink out of a large spider’s nest and set him scuttling into the leaf litter. To both of their fortunes it wasn’t a Rope Spider.

The sky remained overcast and dreary, with a light drizzle sprinkling the companions erratically and eventually matting the boar’s fur down, but it wasn’t torrential like the first storm. Marram was perfectly comfortable being wet, especially with a bounty of mushrooms and plants to eat at his pleasure. Jellycups were a favorite dessert of his, the glowing, congealed goo held in the upturned caps being like a pudding for him. Leyfian scrunched her nose when she saw him slurping the stuff, but Kanni just laughed and patted his head.

The road was beginning to turn solid and substantial again, showing cobblestones at certain points as well as more sturdily built bridges of stone. Mithourn led Thistle around a bend in the road, trying to ignore a chiding squirrel and a creaking raven in addition to Leyfian’s presence nearby. He had to maintain an eye on the area, not get distracted by the woman’s face or her eye-catching bust which seemed to have become more obvious ever since he had told her to stop slouching.

The path led him around a stand of birches and . . . ended. It went into a patch of weeds and ceased at that point, with no sign of it picking up again nearby.

Mithourn cursed, gaining a reproachful look from Leyfian, who only swore very rarely. “Did we turn off the main path somewhere?” he questioned everyone roughly. No one could say for sure. “Let’s backtrack and look around,” he ordered, gaining no complaint from any of them. They went back a mile or so, and found nothing. When they returned to the sight of the dead end, they still had found no alternative, forcing Mithourn to rouse the magpies and send them out. The two birds went zigzagging in opposite directions, staying underneath the canopy of the forest since being up above would give them no view of a potential trail.

The companions took a rest, Mithourn sitting uneasily on a log while Leyfian studied some lichens on a tree. Marram pointed out some herbs and their properties so Kanni could make tea, and Gelvir watched the woman absentmindedly from atop his horse. She soon had a brew which she offered back to Marram, and then Leyfian when the Dakrynian asked for a cupful. They were all kept waiting for a while.

Tae darted high in the understory of the forest, keeping an eye out for Rope Spiders and anything else that might try to eat her. On top of scanning the forest for flight paths and enemies, she also looked for the road that Mithourn found so important. She found nothing in sight, so she wheeled around the base of a great maple and went the other way for a while, and then doubled back again after a few minutes of fruitless effort. After about a half-hour, she decided to turn back, only, she found something interesting before she could return to Mithourn. Landing on a stone pillar, she studied its surface and found unnatural swirls and squiggles carved in its surface. She looked across a long patch of meadow within the forest and saw another similarly made column.

Humans and their stones, she thought with a shake of her black-feathered head. Taking flight again, she glided along the open fields that made a thin gash through the forest. It went south towards the mountains, flanked by leaning stone pillars the whole way and disappearing out of sight because of distance. It wasn’t quite a road, but it came near enough to one, and so far as she understood, Mithourn needed to go south.

Turning in her flight, she went back to report to him.

Zipping between tall trees cascading with green leafs, Pyka navigated the forest skillfully and at top speed, barely curving around the trunks of woody sentinels before he wrecked into them. He hardly had a few fleeting moments to check the ground for a road, the flying was so intense. Even so, he was sure that he passed over nothing but thickets of brush and greenery, bubbling creeks and rocky ground covered in dead leafs with mushrooms.

He hoped to find the road and get back to Mithourn and the others soon; he was getting hungry, and he felt like eating some uncooked bacon for his next meal.

While he was thinking about bacon and the like, he abruptly found himself bursting out of the trees and into a length of clear land. Well, not clear, but open to the sky. The ground was littered in toppled and crushed trees, which looked to have been overturned only recently. A cedar crackled as it settled away from its splintered trunk. The whole trail of destruction was a hundred or so feet wide, and it ran for a fair length, until it ended at a round depression in the ground, like a collapsed shaft that had once led into the planet. Pyka turned around in mid-flight and flew to the other end of the phenomenon, until he spotted its end, which was similar to the first, with a deep, newly filled hole leading downwards.

Pyka thought it an interesting sight and decided to end his search there. He turned back and went to rejoin Mithourn.

It was over an hour later, but the magpies returned with their odd news, instantly flitting over to Mithourn and landing on his armored shoulders, gaining no surprise from him.

“I didn’t find a road,” Tae said from his left shoulder. “But there were odd stones which looked like tree-trunks. They were leaning over like old geezers, and they went towards the mountains in a line.”

Pyka went ahead with his report from Mithourn’s other shoulder as Tae accepted a treat from Leyfian, who had adopted them to a degree over the days. “There weren’t any stones where I went, but a trail of uprooted trees, crushed by something big. The long path led from one blocked hole in the ground to another.”

Mithourn consulted Leyfian who soon had two noisy magpies bidding for her attention on both her slender shoulders, but he already knew which landmark to avoid, and which one to risk chance on. She was distracted for a moment, trying to feed both of the demanding birds at once. For some reason she looked strangely beautiful as she dealt with the birds perched on her, short hair swaying, green eyes darting from one avian to the other. Eventually she answered that she agreed with him, and that they should follow the stone pillars to the mountains. It was the most likely path to Murk, and they could discover more the further they went.

Mithourn corralled the group, rousing them to their saddles, beginning the long, tedious trek through the underbrush. Kanni helped by pushing the bushes and vines out of the path with Kinetic Magic, but the going was still kept at a crawl as Tae retraced her wing-strokes and waited on the horses to traverse the uneven ground. Within an hour or so, however, she had them to the pillars that she had spoken of, which led south in two wavering lines. The two lines of columns flanked a length of ground which was almost clear of forest, and more even than the floor of the woods.

The group made fair speed along the odd path, getting near to the bases of the southern mountains by nightfall, with no end of the trail in sight. They halted by twilight and started a camp, being given a lullaby by the crickets and insects of the encroaching forest. Marram was very comfortable in his new surroundings and fell asleep before anyone else had even eaten their last meal. The magpies took their rest as well, sleeping in a basket together to stay out of the sight of some nearby owls who hooted noisily.

Mithourn went to sleep last, observing as his other companions took to their blankets. Gelvir just fell on his back with his hands behind his head and sighed, swiftly falling asleep. Kanni stared at the Lower General for a moment without an expression that Mithourn could see by the firelight, and then rolled up in her furs, though she didn’t look to be asleep, but concentrating on something behind her eyelids. Leyfian held his gaze for a moment and then murmured a goodnight before tucking her bedroll around herself, hiding her slight body, but not her peaceful face. He studied her closed eyes for a second, and then laid down for sleep himself.

The next day led them to the mountains, the heavily eroded peaks coated in a forest as thick as what they had been traveling in. The montane forest had the addition of a unique species of tree that the rest of the low-altitude woods lacked; Amber-Leaf, which required a drier habitat, and only found it at the peaks of the mountains, where constant rains simply rolled off into the dales. The golden-leafed trees were also scattered across the spurs of the mountains, but they gathered in thick groups only at the very peaks, where they made golden crowns that were set apart from the rest of the forest. Their foliage never shifted color during all the year, except when they turned brown in winter and lost their leafs. Otherwise, they were amber in color throughout spring, summer and autumn.

Kanni and Leyfian noised their awe at the beautiful sight while Marram went on about the healing properties of the leafs of the trees, and how to prepare them. He also listed their flavor profile, leaf shape, texture and growth habits. And he said that he was deficient for knowledge among the Boars.

Mithourn was fairly impressed with the gorgeous sight by morning light, but he was more concerned with the stone pillars and where they were leading him. The columns clambered over the growing hills and approaching mountains, but they were beginning to come in wider intervals, and the path they had guarded was turning wild again.

When the group entered the mountains and followed a winding, wet-bottomed vale, they saw that the stone pillars were simply planted along the walls of the valley at random intervals. Still enough to follow by, but they were getting harder to locate in the thickening forest. Streams flowed everywhere, frequently splashing with the hooves of the horses when the companions had to cross them. Trout and carp swam in the clear waters while secretive animals prowled the edge of the creeks.

Gelvir pointed out a few bison drinking from a shallow lake, and then a herd of deer towards the heights of the mountains. He seemed to be talking to Kanni, but the woman just grunted in acknowledgment of him. She wasn’t in a dark mood—it was hard for her to be anything but bright—but she chose not to bestow her radiance on the Lower General because she had realized what folly it was to do so.

The whole region was a wet one, much like the swamps but more centralized (meaning, at the valley-bottoms) and . . . cleaner. The waters were less stagnant and more active, constantly moving from one place to the next. Beavers made dams across certain creeks, but the pooling water turned into crystalline ponds fit for ducks and majestic cranes instead of mud pits that could house wailing toads. The softly sloped mountains loomed overhead and into the distance, a tumbled and confusing landscape to travel over, especially with such a thick blanketing of forest to burrow under. The magpies were implemented many times to find the next pillar of stone since there was no longer a clear path to travel by. Both of the birds grouched a lot, but they were easily sated with tidbits of food and promises of feasts to come in the next city or town.

Night came before they knew it, and Mithourn went to sleep feeling certain that Murk lay not too far off. In the morning they took their leisure in eating and bathing in the clear waters of a nearby lake. Kanni came back looking as bouncy and lively as her curls, beautiful even to Mithourn who had little affinity for Helkrasic women. When Leyfian was through cleaning, returning to the campsite with her hair still damp, he swallowed, and quickly made his way to the lake for his own wash.

When they set out for the day’s journey, they quickly came across a block. No more stones. Not a single one in sight, or within a mile’s radius when he set Pyka and Tae out to look for them. He sighed, seeing that all fortune had left them at the last second. It always did that to him. He wouldn’t doubt it if he had been Cursed since birth with bad luck.

In a final effort, he sent the magpies to search out the south for as long as they could stay on the wing, ordering them to return only minutes before dark if necessary. With a bundle of cloth-wrapped food in their talons, they set out, leaving the others bored and unoccupied. Kanni sat on a rock and meditated with her eyes closed, practicing a Class of Magic that Mithourn couldn’t see. Gelvir wandered off into the woods to look around, and Marram stooped about, gathering mushrooms along with Amber-Leaf foliage.

Mithourn looked to Leyfian who was watching him with her arms crossed tiredly. “We should discuss what to do if Pyka and Tae don’t find anything,” he said gravely. It would be a painful strike to them all if they had come so far to find that Murk didn’t exist. They could always continue south to the coast of Oshyigar and follow the shores to Thenmere, Hargirm’s largest city and Leyfian’s next destination, but the trek through the Wet Timberland would still have been a waste. He said as much to her, but she just nodded, admitting that she had suspected it might end that way. Sighing, he went to pacing, listening to the sounds of the forest and its many birds and breezes. Leyfian hummed a tune to herself, and he listened intently to that. She had a beautiful voice, suited for singing as he had said, like a bird manifested as a woman. Her spirit and personality sometimes made him think of a quiet bird, but he couldn’t guess why, and left it at that.

Thinking of her avian traits made him recall two other birds. Hurry and find us that ruin, Pyka, Tae.

The flying journey quickly tired Tae to exhaustion, even after she took a small rest in a tall tree to eat her bundled meal (raw bacon and toasted flatbread). She followed the valleys and looked from one end to the other before moving on to the next dale. She searched so many that she almost had a fear of getting lost.

‘Look for a stone ruin’ he said, she grumbled mentally, remembering Mithourn’s command. As if it couldn’t be buried like those odd pillars. What is with humans and their stone anyways? Humans were decidedly weird in many ways, and she wasn’t about to start understanding them anytime in the near future. She might as well just duck her head and think about what was important; don’t get eaten, eat, and get back to Pyka.

By late midday, she saw that there would barely be enough time to return before nightfall, so she groggily turned on a wing and retraced her path. Mithourn would just have to be satisfied that she had found nothing. Maybe Pyka would find what the man was looking for.

Time worked against Pyka, the moments passing more swiftly than they should have on a normal day where laziness abounded. Now that he had something important to do, there was suddenly no time. He had gobbled down his meal a few minutes after setting out, and had picked up a couple of insects along the way. If Mithourn thought that enough food to occupy his talons was sufficient to feed him for a day of flying, then the man was insane. Perhaps Mithourn could fashion little bags to strap around his and Tae’s backs, to hold more food like the sacks that humans often slung over their shoulders.

Late in the day, when the sun had crossed its zenith towards the west, Pyka realized that he would never make it back to Mithourn before night fell—he would have to roost someplace and find the humans in the next morning. It made him nervous to be alone in the wild without Tae for company, but he had no choice.

He decided that if he was going to stay out for the night, he might as well go a little further forward and see if he found anything useful for his troubles. When evening began, a cool draft threw him around in his flight, and a chorus of insects suddenly burst out around him in a chant-like rhythm, urging him forward. Taking a path along a deep ravine of sheer, stone cliffs carven from a river and waterfalls, he zigzagged between leaning trees and natural bridges of rock. Ruddy light shone unevenly on the walls of the gorge, and the illumination quickly slipped away. Flitting past roaring columns of water and spray, he burst out of the narrow canyon, into an enormous vale walled in by mountains and cliffs. Only a few fissures led directly out of the basin, the only alternative exit being up and over the mountains, which was especially treacherous for the land-shackled. Forests clung to the steep slopes, flocks of birds rolling over the trees in search of a communal roost. Strange golden lights made trails down the slopes at certain places, like unwavering lanterns.

At the center of the bowl-shaped vale was a conglomeration of stone columns and domes, half sunken alongside several muddy isles in a large, clouded lake. It looked like a piece of the Wet Timberland had been plucked up and set in the mountains. Just as Mithourn had said. How does he always know!?

Pyka saw a dark form slink behind one of the domes, but when he gave a sidelong glance to the area, nothing revealed itself. Flying to a high point on one of the cliff-faces, he chose a secretive crevice and stuffed himself into the cozy den. He closed his eyes and impatiently waited for sleep to come; he had to wake early and fly back to Mithourn: the magpie had found Murk.

Chapter XXXI

Don’t Leave Me!

9th of Early Summer, 376, 5th Era – Fydal, Forge of the Tulmalin

The small garter snake wandered along the cold stone ground, wondering how in Creation he had gotten lost in such a huge land of stone. The feet of two-legged monsters had nearly crushed him countless times while he searched endlessly for a way out of the cavern system. He had fed on some of the insects that were lost as he was, but warmth was hard to come by, unless it came from one of those strange glowing stones. He had mistaken them for the sun at first, until he had found one laying on the ground right in front of him. Those had kept him warm (if only very slightly) but he still wanted to get out of the tunnels and away from the two-legged monsters.

He slithered under a wooden door, feeling and seeing warmth beyond it: A bed of embers in a stone hearth that looked inviting as soon as he discovered it. But one of the monsters was in the room, and seemed almost to try and step on him. He frantically looked for a place to hide, and slithered into a large cloth sack. He nestled in among the items and waited. A pair of stones that were wrapped separately from one another emitted a small warmth, and he fell asleep between them.

Faeyl pulled a wide-brimmed hat down on her head and tightened her belt around her dark tunic. She remembered that she had to put Innocence’s hammock on and took off her hat. Having nestled her baby in place, she put her hat back on. She glanced at her knapsack on the ground, almost believing that she had seen something sneak into it, but she pushed the suspicion aside.

She was excited and content; Innocence was healthier than ever, and she felt refreshed and energetic again. Only one thing worried her; Fælwiix had been pulling away over the past week, almost unnoticeably, but she had keen senses to see the signs. He visited her less, and for shorter periods of time. His eyes held more sadness and regret for each day that passed.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered to herself. “I’ll talk to him, I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe he just doesn’t want to leave Fydal so soon.” The Wolverines would be leaving by the next morning; Faeyl had everything packed and ready for the next part of her journey.

She went to leave her room. As she opened the door, however, she was met with Hroww, the man holding his fist up to knock at her door. He lowered his arm.

“H-Hroww . . .” Faeyl stammered. Her heart became a nervous flutter. She couldn’t help but smile flirtatiously for a moment.

“May I come in for a moment?” the Forgemaster questioned. His eyes unconsciously glanced at Faeyl’s breast and then darted back.

Realizing that she had been sticking her chest out, she shrunk to her normal stance and gestured Hroww in. He gazed into the dying fire in the hearth for a moment. “Fælwiix and his army are about to depart south, to war. I would not be caught off guard if they meet resistance soon after leaving these mountains. I heard that sadly, you have seen the outcome of a tumultuous period in Hargirm. Let me tell you for your sake that whatever you saw there, where Fælwiix goes, it will be many times worse.”

Faeyl recalled the villages that were ransacked, especially the first, with the injured boy and the thing around the water-well. It still made her sick to think of it, and flushed with fury.

“I would ask that you stay here, where you and your child will be safe with the Tulmalin, until we could return you home,” Hroww said.

“Return home . . .” she mused, thinking back to the third day that she had known Fælwiix. He had risked his life to save her from burning in Mount Caldkere. Afterwards he had promised her something. “I’ll see to it that you get home,” Faeyl repeated the words. “You will survive this journey.” Hroww gave her an odd look, but she didn’t care. “Damn it, Fælwiix,” she added, and turned to the Forgemaster. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?” The man gave a slight nod. “Where is he now?”

“In the Wolverine encampment, on the plateau.”

“I’m going now,” Faeyl stated, going out the door. She answered the questioning look that Hroww had probably given her. “I’m going to tell Fælwiix that if he wants me to go away, he can tell me himself.” Her voice broke at the end. She didn’t want to stay behind; she cared too much about the Commander, about the trek she had taken up and had not yet finished.

She went quickly to the plateau, where Fælwiix was gathering the army. He was personally choosing the last of the five-hundred Wolverines that would remain with the Tulmalin. Growls, roars and howls sounded from the throng of Wolverines as they spoke among themselves and as Fælwiix addressed them. The weasels had made a huge, solid circle around their Commander, and were stuffed close together. They did not look comfortable at being packed like fish in a net, but the practice was necessary for order and organization.

“Fælwiix!” Faeyl shouted as she pushed through the army of Wolverines. She was too far away to be heard. Some hissed at her as she waded past them, tweaking whiskers and rustling fur, but most just glared at her for interrupting. She ignored them and made her way to the center of the group, where Fælwiix gave her a questioning, but sad stare. Faeyl finally reached him, and the guttural speech of the antherans around her silenced.

“Faeyl, you shouldn’t be here,” Fælwiix said in the quiet, but there was no threatening tone to his voice, just sadness, like her very presence was taxing him.

“I know you want me to stay,” she challenged. “I know you asked Hroww to coax me to stay behind, so he could send me home.”

Another solemn look. “I knew that if I told you to stay, you would likely not listen to me. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know that you’re trying to keep your promise, that you want me to be where I belong, but I’ve made my own decision,” Faeyl protested, realizing the words as she said them. The throng of Wolverines stared at them strangely, and then started to dissipate. Ta`vik, who had been stationed next to Fælwiix, edged awkwardly away. Neither Faeyl nor Fælwiix noticed that.

“You don’t want to see this war,” the Commander stated, looking into her gray eyes. “It will tear you apart, metaphorically, if not literally.”

Faeyl remembered her dream of the Commander, the sight of him wounded and dying. “I have to at least stay with you a little while longer. Please . . . I have the feeling that you will die if I don’t help you.”

“Better for me to die than you,” he said stoically. “You have to stay here, for Innocence’s sake at the very least.”

Nothing was getting to him, but Faeyl had to convince him somehow. “She will be safe, I know it, because you will be there.”

He shook his head. “You can’t be sure of that. I won’t let you take that chance. You have to stay here. You will stay here!” He tried to scare her into submission by raising his voice.

Faeyl recoiled, but persisted. “Don’t leave me!” she shouted suddenly, losing patience and control of her emotions. “Damn the war and the danger! All of it can burn in Mount Caldkere’s heart! You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I won’t stay here while you go and get yourself slaughtered!”

Fælwiix just gave her a wide-eyed stare; he looked taken aback. “You would risk yourself for me?” He sounded unbelieving.

“Yes!” Faeyl answered instantly. “I would, and I will—even if I have to follow you south alone, even if you try to push me back.”

Fælwiix shook his whole body as if wet, or like he was dispelling a fogginess of mind, then gave Faeyl a look. “Well, I guess it will be better for you to be in the army than following from behind. Ta`vik!” He turned to his second-in-command, who trotted up to him expectantly. “Choose the last of the five-hundred, and inform the army that we leave tomorrow just before dawn.”

“Yes, Fælwiix,” Ta`vik consented and went off to rally the mustelids. His calm shouts began to echo around the plateau, as did the responding warriors’. The place was soon in upheaval with activity.

“Faeyl, come me,” Fælwiix commanded and led her back into the city of the Tulmalin, by ways of the secret tunnel. He seemed to be struggling to subdue a toothy grin. Faeyl also held back a smile, then realized that there was no reason to, and beamed openly as she followed the Commander through the busy halls of Fydal.

As they entered The Forge, they caught Hroww on his way to his personal abode. “Forgemaster,” Fælwiix addressed, “I need you to forge one more set of armor.”

“For whom?” Hroww glanced at Faeyl and guessed before anyone could answer. “Nothing could convince you to stay?”

“Nothing.” She felt proud for a moment at her own determination.

Hroww thought for a moment, mentally assessing her bodily proportions—and likely enjoying it, though he acted perfectly indifferent and professional. “If you are to have armor, I suspect you will desire it to be light and comfortable, and inconspicuous. We have supple leather that could encase a thin layer of molded steel . . .”

“And she needs a weapon,” Fælwiix added before Hroww became fully engrossed in his thoughts.

“But I don’t want it!” Faeyl protested. “They’re all big and clunky, and I might stab myself on one.”

“We are about to go into war; if one of the enemy breaks through to you, you are going to want something to defend yourself with, even if it is something small.”

“In that case, I’ll just take a dagger.”

Hroww had not broken his train of notes while the little argument took place. “. . . studded with bronze rivets and steel pins. Yes I believe that would work, and concerning the dagger, you may choose any one of them you like from The Armory. There are a few, as I remember.”

Faeyl found that there were hundreds in the massive Armory, and she chose a thin, sleek one that remained unnoticeable on her hip. Afterwards, the Tulmalin smiths measured her and made the armor accordingly, with great speed since it had to be ready by the next morning.

Then, the smiths made an amazing piece of work for Innocence; a snug carrier that was nearly indestructible on the outside, but comfortable and soft on the inside, complete with a ventilated cover for when she needed to sleep. Faeyl opened and closed the cover over and over, entertaining her baby with the shifting door. As she continued with that affair in her room, Hroww came through the open door and glanced about at the clear abode. Faeyl had nearly finished packing for her journey already.

“I have come here to ask if there was any way I could assist, or if there were any more supplies that were wanting,” he explained, and Faeyl looked up appreciatively at him.

“You have done everything that you could have and more, I can’t thank you enough. But if it isn’t too much to ask, I would be more comfortable if I had some more traveling food, and a better pot than what I have, and maybe some more clothes. I think that’s it. I’m already eternally thankful for what you’ve done.” She looked down at Innocence who stared with wide eyes back at her. “Is there anything that I could do for you?”

Hroww smiled, his thick reddish beard following the curve of his lips. “You are a beautiful woman,” he mused, and continued his observation, despite Faeyl’s shocked stare. “And I am convinced that if you had none of your bodily gracefulness, your inner Light would still shine through.” He paused, gazing into her eyes. “As to your question, this is my answer: gifts are meant to be given, not exchanged.”

Hroww then gave her a few instructions to find what she needed, and left afterwards without a word. He casually placed a small book on one of the chairs in the room as he left. Once he was gone, Faeyl broke out into laughter, finding the Forgemaster’s strange words to be immensely comical. Just as I’ve been finding myself attracted to him, he comes out and says that I’m beautiful. She had to beam at herself, after being assured that she was attractive. Hroww had very nearly brought her self esteem to the point of vanity. I better go get the last of my supplies before I get too sure of myself. Maybe Monr will help me gather things?

It turned out to be that Monr could set aside her seamstress work for the day and help Faeyl with gathering supplies. They went to the South District to find Faeyl what she needed. Apparently word had spread from Hroww that she was to have anything she needed for free; he would pay for the costs.

As Faeyl picked through some copper pots, Monr brought up a previous conversation that they had discarded days before. “Are you certain that you want to leave? Go out towards danger?”

“It’s dangerous, I know, but . . . I’ll be fine.”

“What about Innocence?”

“She will be safe, too.”

Monr sighed at Faeyl’s false assurances. “How do you know that?”

“Because The Mountain gave her its Blessing. She’s been kept alive all this time, and she survived the sickness. I know it will protect her, whatever happens next.” Will it? She couldn’t keep away her own doubts.

The Tulmalin woman heaved another breath. “You and Hroww kept Innocence from dying. I think you rely too much on Blessings and Destiny; they will only keep you from falling if you stop leaping towards the abyss.”

“Maybe, but Fælwiix will be in danger, and he will die if no one is there to help him. Only I could help him with a wound—none of the Wolverines can help heal an injury.”

“You or Fælwiix could ask for a Tulmalin man to join the army with medical instruments, it would be better than you going on yourself.”

“It’s too late for that; Fælwiix won’t delay, and anyways, the vision came to me, so I have to take responsibility for it.” Those were words that her aunt Kaylin had told her. Don’t rely on anyone else to find the cure for your own convictions, your own inklings.

“You don’t have to do anything, Faeyl, you can make whatever decision you want.”

“Well, I’ve made it,” she answered back, wanting to end the argument. She didn’t want to leave Fydal with memories of a row with her friend.

Monr left it at that, but had a grimace for a while afterwards, as Faeyl put things in a large basket, preserved foods and large bandages, sewing materials and advanced surgical medicines, like staunching powder in jars and ointments for infections. She had to be prepared for any wound that Fælwiix might receive. She knew some medical procedures from her grandmother, who had been a Healer in Hrimrin as a young woman. That knowledge would have to be enough—she hoped it was enough, if her dream did come to reality.

Monr helped haul her things to her room, then tarried at the door. “I had better get back to my duties. I’ll . . . I’ll come back tomorrow morning to see you off.” She left, a sad aura around her.

Faeyl shut the door, wondering if Monr’s premonitions of Doom were founded on something solid, or if they were just worries. She shook her head of the jumbled thoughts and went about to her work.

Laying Innocence on the bed, she packed her items meticulously, going over a mental list in her head again and again. She was rarely the organized type, but for the travels ahead, she wanted to be as best prepared as she could be. As well as that, becoming a mother had forced the responsibility of neatness on her. Or at least, she had accepted it. She had known a few women in her life that didn’t care for their children very well; her erratic personality could have easily led to neglect as well, but she wouldn’t allow that to happen. She knew there would always be room for betterment, but she had conquered her first unhealthy impulses. Besides, how could she not do her absolute best when—

“Oh, by The Mountain! Innocence, no!” Faeyl dropped whatever it was she had been holding at that moment and rushed to catch Innocence before the baby crawled off the bed. She swept her daughter up in her arms and sat shakily on the edge of the bed, heart pounding. Innocence could have killed herself, and I was just marveling at how well I’ve done as a mother. I need to pay more attention. She cuddled her baby as she explained the dangers of crawling around without supervision. “It’s very good that you learned to crawl, but it’s also very dangerous! You have to be very careful.”

Of course this meant almost nothing to Innocence, so she babbled some nonsense and tugged at Faeyl’s long wavy hair. She seemed almost to pout.

“Oh, all right, I won’t lock you away in your basket,” Faeyl promised and set Innocence gingerly on the ground. She brought her bag and supplies nearby and sat with her legs spread out as physical barriers for her baby. Continuing to pack things away, she watched Innocence crawl about and mess around with random objects on the ground that were meant to be put in the bag. Faeyl applauded her as she made progress in pushing things around the stone floor. From where she sat, she saw a book laying on one of the chairs in her room.

“That’s strange, I don’t remember this book,” she mused as she lifted it and tried to read its cover. The cloth was too old and faded to read. She opened it, and found the first page blank except for three symbols, outlines of animals. One she instantly recognized as a prowling Wolverine, another as a proud Wolf. The third was smudged and ruined, but she thought that she could see two curving horns at one end. Flipping to the next page there was only a newly scribbled note of black ink, written in Caldkarien.

Knowledge is powerful and revealing, and in many instances, a pleasure. A small gift, of which I truly hope you will enjoy.

—Hroww

 She smiled, shaking her head in disbelief at how generous Hroww was. Flipping to the next page, Faeyl read out loud, “’A history of the Giant Animals, by Jibel Harfngår.’ Weird name. ‘Contents: Introduction, Legends of the Three Major Giant Animals.’ Three? I’ve only heard about the Wolves and Wolverines. ‘The Wolverine-Wolf War, The Hidden . . .’” She trailed off as she tried to read the smudged word. She made a vexed noise and looked beyond it. “’Rarer Animals, Mutations of Normal Fauna, Index of Singular Anomalies . . . This is so interesting!” One thing immediately appeared odd to her, however. The Wolverine-Wolf War had only occurred fifteen or so years before her birth, making it thirty years in the past, yet the book looked to be seven decades old. Perhaps it had just been mistreated.

A soft knock sounded on her door, and she was forced to close the book and pick up Innocence so the infant wouldn’t try to crawl herself into trouble. She opened the door to find Ta`vik and one of the Tulmalin smiths at her door. The man held a set of armor that looked almost just like a leather dress, though slivers of metal showed through the plates of thin hide. Faeyl stepped back and let them in. The smith ceremoniously placed the armor on her bed, then left without a word. The Tulmalin had taken merely hours to finish her armor.

Ta`vik remained behind, his tail swishing worriedly in the threshold. His armor suited him well, as it did with all the Wolverines, and Faeyl wondered if her armor would look nice on her, or just ridiculous.

“Faeyl,” the Wolverine broached, “I could not help but try and convince you to stay.”

She bristled much like a cat would. “Did Fælwiix put you up to this? He just agreed that I could—”

“Creator Curse me if I lie to you,” Ta`vik said with only a little passion in his voice, which was more fiery than usual, for him. “I came here of my own accord. You’ve affected more than just Fælwiix over the months. You are a kindhearted creature, and I would hate to see you get injured. The Wolverines are hurtling into war, and it will be bloodier and . . .” His eyes glazed over for a moment; he was probably remembering the war with the Wolves. “ . . . it will be fiercer and worse than any war you humans have ever suffered in recent history—I can not speak for the distant past; there are too many things to consider if you go into the past . . .” Reluctantly, he cut off his own rambling and picked up his previous point. “It will be brutal, terrible. It would drive one like you to insanity. It might even turn a Wolverine’s mind.” He shivered, as if suddenly realizing what he could not escape. “I am not sure that you can just walk in, stay for as long as you feel you need to, and then walk back out. You could very well be trapped with us for months longer than you anticipate, and the chances of you dying are too high to risk. You must stay.”

He’s as stubborn Fælwiix . . . Faeyl thought, and uncannily, Ta`vik seemed to answer her thoughts.

“You have convinced Fælwiix that you would follow him no matter the cost—I have overheard that he has a weakness of being too possessive of those he cares about. He does not want to leave you behind because he thinks he will never see you again, otherwise. I have no such weakness, so I ask that you think this all over again.”

Faeyl cradled Innocence in one arm as she put a finger thoughtfully to her chin. “I’ll think about it . . .” Ta`vik gave a hopeful look. “No. I have to go.” He looked shattered, in a way, and she realized that it was a cruel joke she had played. “I’m sorry, but I have to go, or Fælwiix will die. I just know it. As long as he is alive, I’ll be safe, too.”

“And you are sure of that?” It sounded like an actual question, and not a challenge.

“Yes,” she answered and embraced his strong, furry neck. “Thank you for caring, I hope it is a short war, and that you can return home.”

Ta`vik nodded in consent for her sake, but his private thoughts were different. If it is a short war, it will be a lost one. The thought might have been cold and calculating if it were about anything else, but any thought of war made him feel sick. He pulled away from Faeyl and backed out of her room, his plate-armor catching on the threshold of the door; he disliked how it did that. “I will come for you in the morning when the army is ready to leave; I would suggest that you get as much rest as possible.”

“I’ll be ready, and I would like to talk about your homeland, and your theories,” she said, hoping it would appease him. He gave a toothy grin that only one of his kind could make, then walked off down the hall.

Closing the door, Faeyl set Innocence in the indestructible carrier and set about to trying on her armor. It proved comfortable and a perfect fit, hardly weighing her down like steel. The dark leather on the outside made her look almost completely normal. It was considerate for her maternal needs as well; the top half of the cuirass was easy to unclasp and pull aside. The helmet was the only odd item, and she decided to leave that out of her routine raiment until it was absolutely necessary. Hopefully it would never become necessary.

It was hours later when Fælwiix gave her one more visit in her room. It would be gloaming outside, but it was not visible from her room, obviously. He had only come to make certain that she was fully prepared to leave, but as usual, Faeyl found a way to spark a conversation that made him stay longer than he intended. She had read out of the book that Hroww had gifted her, and one of the chapters gave rise to curiosity.

“Fælwiix,” she addressed, on the verge of a question. “You mentioned a while ago that the Wolverines had allies in these mountains. Who were they? Are there Wolverines down here?”

Fælwiix sniffed for no apparent reason, twitched his whiskers around, and then answered. “No . . . there aren’t any of my kind further south than northern Helkras. Except for this army, of course. Does that book of yours help you catch onto my plots? It’s another race of animals who are my allies, and our friendship might seem strange to you, especially since they are friends of the Wolves as well.”

“What!?” Faeyl exclaimed. “How could you be friends with someone who is allied to the Wolves?”

“Since they tried to make peace between us and the Wolves, they managed to keep both of us as friends, though some of either race would disagree. I find them too valuable to discount, and anyways, one of them helped me on the path I’m on now, even if he didn’t intend it, the crazy bastard. I just wish they would show themselves, and join us before we leave.” He ended in a mutter.

“What kind of animal are they?”

Fælwiix smiled mischievously at that. “Read your book.”