Chapter 21
The days passed swiftly, a blur of travel, training, and planning. They had been traveling through the woods for nearly two weeks. The trip was progressing nicely, the only time they had stopped for more than one night was when Waine had taken a small deer instead of game birds. They spent the afternoon butchering the animal. The entire next day was devoted to curing the meat that they would not eat right away.
Bertus did most of the cooking. The horses, even Carlo’s stallion, seemed offended if anyone besides the young man tried to care for them. The Warriors split watches at night, and trained unrelentingly at every opportunity. The arrangement seemed to please everyone.
In the evenings before combat practice, Kevon would sometimes read some of the book that Holten had given him. One night, Bertus asked him why he would study such a thing. Kevon answered that reading it could give some insight into the author’s personality. He reminded the boy that Gurlin had written the book, and was their intended target. That had satisfied Bertus’s curiosity.
That was only part of the truth, however. In the quiet times of his watch, Kevon sometimes toyed with the bits of knowledge extracted from his reading. By visualizing the Enhancement rune alongside the Movement rune he was already getting very accustomed to using, his magic seemed to be more potent. It also seemed not to drain as much power from Kevon’s reserves as it would normally.
Kevon also experimented more with his magical reserves and steel. After testing himself several nights in a row, he discovered he could use the Enhance/Movement rune combination soon after touching a sword. His magic was good for only small bursts, but the finding cheered Kevon. He wondered if there would ever be a point where his spellcasting with certain runes would be so effortless that he could use magic immediately after releasing a sword-hilt.
His joy at learning new things about magic was soured by his need to keep them secret. He had grown to trust his companions with every other aspect of his quest, his life. But talk around the campfires at night always seemed to turn to stories of evil sorcerers, and the heroes that slew them, or more often died trying. A Magi who could only attack an armored foe indirectly, and who died at the first sword-stroke was deadly enough. One that could use magic and a sword, even if not at the same time, would be unacceptable.
So, Kevon made the best of the situation. He trained hard with the sword, not once using magic to help himself when sparring with the wooden blades. When not sparring, Kevon used the heavier blade almost exclusively, and soon he could swing it quite easily in the two-handed grip. The sword was still heavier than Kevon would like to use one-handed for any length of time.
Carlo also devoted a small portion of Kevon’s training to the knife. He wanted Kevon to be able to do something with his off-hand, and lacking a shield, the knife paired well with the lighter saber.
Travel through the woods varied from day to day. The main track was always wide enough for a wagon, easily wide enough for three to ride abreast. Lesser tracks occasionally intersected or crossed the main path, but the party did not stray from the road.
The trees grew close in some spots and opened up in others to give an unobstructed view of the sky. Twice already, the group had ridden through tracts of burnt land. Both times, they had seen signs of life returning to the forest, new growth and smaller animals, but there was no game and they were grateful for the stores they carried with them.
One afternoon, just before the midday break, the four rode leisurely along when the horses began sidestepping and snorting uneasily. This had happened several times before, when downwind of some of the forest’s more pungent inhabitants, or when they were near one of the burnt swaths.
Carlo pushed the stallion ahead, but the rest of the horses kept acting too spooked, and refused to follow. The Blademaster limbered his sword and scanned the surrounding area.
Before Kevon had thought about taking any action, Waine’s bow was strung and the Seeker was fastening his quiver to his leg.
Wanting to help in any way he could, Kevon focused and paired an Enhancement and a Control rune and reached out to touch the minds of each of the four horses that were becoming increasingly difficult to manage. He slowly calmed them down with a light touch on their minds, and they stood still, but remained alert. Maintaining his focus on the first spell, he spun an enhanced sound-muffling Illusion much like the one he’d used while rescuing Carlo from the bandits, making sure to allow sound in, but not out.
If not for the flash of motion, Kevon might not have heard the muted twang of Waine’s bowstring, but he could not have missed the results the arrow produced.
A strained squeal and a raspy gurgle accompanied the thrashing as a dark, misshapen figure stumbled from behind the bush where it had been hiding, clutching the feathered shaft buried in its throat.
Startled, Kevon lost his concentration and heard the second shot thrum louder as another bush rustled and Waine sank an arrow into the back of another one of the creatures who was just attempting to flee.
As Kevon’s Control spell dissolved, the horses began to react to the commotion. It was all Bertus could do to stay in his saddle with his horse and Kevon’s mare trying to go in two different directions.
“Whoa!” Bertus called, and Kevon seized the opportunity to reform his runes and pour energy into them. The horses quieted almost at once. “There,” Bertus smiled. “That’s better.”
“Orc scouting party,” Carlo said, spitting.
“Thought so.” Waine nocked another arrow. “I thought they were tougher to kill, though.”
Carlo grunted in amusement. “Believe me, they usually are.”
Kevon eased back on the magic. “Scouting party?” he asked. “There’s more then?”
“Twenty or thirty at least,” Carlo nodded. “Otherwise they would all stay together. Half an hour or so at most before these two are missed.” The mercenary peered through the trees and looked up and down the road. “My guess is they’re coming from the south and haven’t reached the road yet. We’d likely be able to outrun them either way we want to go.”
Kevon nodded. “Isn’t it unusual for them to be this far north?” he asked.
Carlo nodded again. “It’s rare for more than one or two to slip past the frontier.” He paused. “I think I’ll go have a look. You should be all right here with Waine. If there’s trouble, keep on going, I’ll catch up.”
The remaining three nodded in acknowledgement as Carlo urged his stallion off the track in the direction the orcs had been coming from.
A few minutes later, Bertus piped up and broke the strained silence. “So… do we get to loot the bodies?”
Waine was able to stifle only part of his laugh. “I don’t think you should go anywhere near them. Personally, I feel safer up here with arrows at the ready.”
Kevon agreed, and after a moment noticed that both of his companions were looking at him expectantly. “Ohhhh…” he said slowly.
“I won’t pull rank and make you do it…” Waine began, “But if you want to…”
Kevon tossed his reins to Bertus and slowly released the runes that he had let dull to a slight shimmer in his mind. Satisfied that the horses were calm enough, he dismounted and drew his saber before edging cautiously toward the first fallen orc.
“Don’t touch their weapons!” Waine called after him. “No telling what’s on them.”
Kevon reached the orc and prodded the prone form with the tip of his sword. He found it difficult to tell what was orc and what was armor. Patches of what he thought must be skin poked out from place to place from under what could have been three layers of tattered leather. Dust and grime made the differences in texture hard to discern. The rivulets of blood that had flowed away from the body were now dried into the dust and seemed to have a greenish-black cast to them.
Assured that the orc was dead, Kevon kicked it over onto its back, getting a good look at its face for the first time. Aside from the greenish-gray cast of its skin and the large, misshapen
teeth in its mouth, the fallen orc could have been a human child. The body proportions were off somewhat, but the slackened features were smooth, a far cry from the leathery hulks orcs were portrayed as in stories.
“A… child?” Kevon asked, stumbling back a few steps.
“Orc scouts are usually between two and three years old,” Waine called softly from behind him. “Old enough to know what to do, small enough to sneak around.”
“Three years old?” Kevon stared at the corpse in disbelief.
“They rarely live past ten,” Waine explained, guiding his horse closer to get a better look himself. “They don’t stop growing until they die. But, the older ones usually kill each other fighting over food. That, or the rest of the clan will turn on them when they start eating the younger ones.”
Shuddering, Kevon returned to the body and began pulling pouches free from the rope the orc had been using for a belt. The first two pouches held rancid chunks of meat, and Kevon threw them into the bushes as soon as he opened them. The last pouch held bits of stone, wood, string, and twisted scraps of metal, among other things. Kevon sifted through the rubbish, not expecting to find anything really worthwhile. A smooth chunk of white material that he had passed over a few times already caught his eye as it fell to a new position in the pile. It appeared to be a small section of bone, half an inch thick and a little over an inch wide at its widest points. The carved faces were polished smooth, evidently both by design and from wear. The thing that caught Kevon’s eye, however, was the symbol carved on the now-upturned face. It was not a symbol he knew, but he did not doubt that something would happen if he ran some magic through it.
Kevon shuddered once again. He was not sure what made him more uneasy about the runed bone, the fact that it was carved in bone, that he had found it in the possession of an orc, or the appearance of the rune itself. Not only were the lines composing the symbol twisted and severe, but the etched grooves appeared to be filled with dried blood of some kind.
Kevon pushed aside the rest of the junk and carefully picked up the carved bone. “What do you make of this?” he asked, walking over to where Waine sat scanning the surrounding forest.
Waine sniffed. “I don’t know if it’s an orc toy or something he picked up somewhere else.” He shook his head. “It’s garbage. Go check the other one.”
Kevon walked over to where the second orc had fallen. This one seemed a bit larger, and had luckily fallen on its side, leaving its pouches easily accessible. Kevon poked them carefully and threw the squishy ones into the bushes without opening them.
The two pouches Kevon was brave enough to open held refuse similar to that he’d found in the other pouch. This orc had better taste or judgment; Kevon found several coppers and a silver amidst the rest of the junk. Nothing else unusual caught Kevon’s eye, and he felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Gathering the small handful of coins together, he abandoned his searching and returned to the others to offer the money to Waine.
Seeing only the single glint of silver, Waine made a face and shook his head dismissively. “Let the boy have it,” he said, glancing to the side for a second to check on Bertus. “He’s more than earned it, putting up with us.”
Bertus quietly accepted the coins, quickly putting them in a pouch and back in his pocket, still watching the forest intently.
Several more minutes passed uneventfully. The boredom grew palpable and Waine slackened his grip on his bow. The three companions talked amongst themselves, pointedly avoiding the question that they all wanted to ask.
Where is Carlo? Kevon wondered, grinning dutifully as Waine told of a hunt for cougars on Mount Elenna.
Twigs snapped in the undergrowth in the direction Carlo had gone, and Waine was instantly at a full draw, searching for a target to go with the sound. Several runic images formed in Kevon’s mind, and he tried to estimate how much power he had regained since touching his sword last.
“Easy!” Carlo called. “It’s just me, so far.” The Blademaster rode into sight and approached the others.
“So far?” Waine asked, lowering his bow.
Carlo reined his stallion in as he reached the others. “There’s a sizeable force of them heading north just about half a mile from here. I saw about a hundred in the main group, and no other scouting parties that I could see.” He hesitated. “There were at least three bulls.”
“Headed for Eastport,” Waine said softly.
“We have to warn them!” Bertus cried.
“Yes,” Carlo agreed. “We do.”
If there are orcs here, this far North… Kevon thought, Could there be more to the East? His heart pounded as fear for Marelle’s safety threatened to turn to panic.
Kevon looked at Carlo, and the Blademaster continued. “We know the road behind is clear. We’re about halfway to East Thaddington, and the road ahead is not as known to us. Going back, we can stay ahead of the orcs easily if we push the horses, and be in Eastport inside of three weeks. That would give us two, maybe three days to raise the militia.” Carlo looked at Kevon. “Can you afford this delay?”
Kevon sighed. “I don’t know how much time I have. The sooner I deal with my problems, the better.” And if we happen to find out more about the orcs breaking through the Southern defenses, it could set my mind to ease.
Carlo nodded. “I think the boy will be safer going back with me. Find out what you can in East Thaddington, and then head to the Warrior’s Guild in Navlia. If we don’t meet you there in twelve weeks, go on without us.” The Blademaster turned to the Seeker. “Waine?” he asked.
“I’ll go with Kevon.” Waine chuckled. “He’ll be safer with me.”
“All right, then. We’d better get moving!” Carlo announced.
Bertus tossed the mare’s reins to Kevon. “Can’t have your nag slowing us up,” he giggled, smiling. His look grew more serious. “Be careful.”
“Good luck to all of us,” Kevon said. “See you in Navlia.”
Carlo and Bertus took off at a gallop in the direction they had come from.
As the Blademaster and his charge rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, Waine spoke.
“They’re going for speed, to put as much distance between themselves and the orcs as possible,” the Seeker began. “We’ve got to be a little more cautious.”
Kevon nodded in agreement.
Waine waited a moment, and then continued. “If we run into any more orcs, hopefully I can deal with them as easily as I did this time. If not…”
“… I could help out.” Kevon began hesitantly.
Waine sighed. “We don’t have time to make you a bow and teach you how to use it.”
Kevon smiled. “That’s not what I meant, but we’ll have to do that soon, too.”
“You’re not really up to fighting them close-in either,” Waine advised. “Even ones this young are sneaky little bastards. All orcs do is fight.”
Kevon bit his lip in concentration. “That’s not what I meant, either.” He waited a moment longer as Waine’s expression turned to one of interest. “How much do you trust me?” he asked, finally.
The Seeker took a minute to answer. “With my woman, but…” he paused, “Only because you’d just turn red, like now.”
Kevon sighed. “I’m serious, Waine. This is important.”
“With my life.” Waine answered without hesitation. “We’re guild-brothers.”
Kevon fidgeted tensely. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you, right?” he asked, “Because… I haven’t told any of you… everything.”
Waine’s look of puzzled amusement hardened into a suspicious glare. “What… have you done?”
Kevon shook his head. “It’s not really what I’ve done, and it’s not like I’ve lied about it…”
“Well, then, just say it and be done with it.” Waine said, shrugging.
“I’m a Journeyman Mage.” Kevon said, watching the Seeker for a reaction.
Waine laughed and reined his horse around to begin he
ading on to East Thaddington. “We don’t have time for jokes, Kevon. Let’s just get going.”
Kevon clucked and wheeled his stallion about, the pack mare in tow. “I’m serious, Waine,” he said, pulling up beside him.
“Magi can’t handle iron or steel,” Waine snapped. “Or didn’t you learn that when you were an Apprentice?”
“I can.” Kevon hissed back at him. “I don’t know if I’m different or if I just figured out the trick to it, or what… but I can!”
Waine jerked back on his reins and his horse nearly skidded to a stop. Kevon had to ease back a little more slowly to prevent the mare from plowing into his mount.
“Show me, then.” Waine demanded. “Do some magic.”
“I will in a few minutes,” Kevon stammered. “Using swords and stuff keeps me from casting spells for a little while, and…”
Waine snorted derisively. “Whatever.”
Kevon rolled his eyes. He formed an Enhancement rune and an Illusion rune. He pulsed what little magic he had accumulated in the last few minutes through them, and for a little more than a second a ball of blue flame burned in his upturned palm. It sputtered out almost immediately, leaving only afterimage and a hint of mage-smoke hanging in the air.
Waine’s eyes widened. “Was that?”
“Just an Illusion,” Kevon explained. “That’s what I’m best at, so far.” Kevon lowered his gaze sheepishly. “I’ve also used it once or twice when sparring with wooden swords…”
Waine’s jaw dropped. “I knew it!” he yelled, forgetting the orc situation for the moment. “I knew there had to be something going on in the Trial, especially since sparring with you afterward. Your Trial was the best I’ve seen you do…” he paused and peered closer at Kevon. “You haven’t been using magic to spar with since then, have you?”
“No, I wanted to learn how to do it right.” Kevon said. “The Trial was different. There was no way I would have passed without it.”
Waine furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “Not against me, but I’d have bet on you against any of the Novices in that hall.” The Seeker slugged Kevon in the arm. “Anyway, I don’t see anything wrong with using an advantage if you have it. You should try it more during practice to help me train.”
Apprentice Swordceror Page 16
