The Warsmith walked into the cave, managing not to stagger until he was around the first bend in the tunnel and out of sight of his companions. He stumbled into the cavern and felt his way along the wall into a corner. He checked for sharp rocks and uncomfortable protrusions. Finding none, he settled into a fairly comfortable seated position before falling asleep.
* * *
Waine prodded at the corpse of the fallen bull orc. “The deep wounds are clean-cut,” he explained to Bertus. “Kevon’s sword. The tears on the face are shallow, nothing that could kill. This…” Waine kicked the arm up to expose the deep cut underneath. “…is what killed it.” He thought a moment longer. “The imps attacked in panic. They don’t normally prey on orcs, they can’t kill them outright. That’s why the orcs are still around, and people are not.”
“We expected the night beasts,” Bertus said, looking at the dead orc. “Now this? How are we supposed to make it…”
“It’s two days travel on horseback from here,” Waine cut in. “With luck, we’ll cross it in less than seven.” He looked at Bertus for a minute. “Can we make it seven days?”
Bertus glanced over at the sack of provisions. “Three, four days at the most,” he answered. “If I could get back to the stream…”
“No.” Waine countered. “Stay with Kevon. Move everything inside. I’ll be back soon.” The Adept unslung his bow and checked his quiver. He winked at Bertus and stalked down toward the bottom of the valley.
* * *
Bertus roused Kevon when the first shadows of evening stretched across the cave mouth. “It’s an hour until nightfall,” he said, handing Kevon a piece of fish and a waterskin. “No sign of orcs, but no sign of Waine, either.”
The Warsmith lowered the waterskin. “Where did he go?”
“Hunting, I think,” Bertus answered, fidgeting. “I wanted to go to the stream for more fish, but he made me wait here. He should have been back already.”
Kevon and Bertus left the near-dark of the cavern to sit outside and watch for Waine.
The later the hour grew, the more the knot in Kevon’s stomach twisted. He could only imagine how Bertus must feel, the boy’s concern had been growing for hours longer than his own.
The high scarlet clouds that streaked the sky above faded toward grey, and the first stars began twinkling. This was the nearest they had come to being exposed at full dark since the attack on the company, and the dropping temperature made Kevon shudder.
“We’d better get inside,” Kevon said, finally. “We’re not safe out here.”
“But, Waine…” Bertus stammered.
“Can you think of anyone better suited to handle these conditions alone?” Kevon snapped, surprising himself. “He’s out there, taking care of himself. He expects us to take care of ourselves. We can’t risk it. Get inside.”
The youth peered out into the gloom for a few moments longer. “You’re right,” he sniffed.
Kevon followed Bertus into the cave. Once they had gone a few feet inside, he turned and sat, facing out the entrance. Kevon spread his hands apart to press his palms against the smooth stone walls. After a few deep breaths, he formed an Earth rune in his mind’s eye, and touched it with power.
The rune glowed a deeper, richer brown than Kevon had ever seen while using it before. Acting slowly and deliberately with the elemental rune he was least familiar with, he sharpened his focus, and began bending the magic to his will. Kevon pushed his awareness into the ground beneath and around him, trying to determine its composition. He could tell immediately that he was surrounded by granite, apart from scattered imperfections in the makeup of the mountain. He felt deeper, where the stone groaned from heat rising from below. He spread his awareness wider through the earth, the magic deepening the further he opened to it. The soil whispered to him where the grasses’ roots tugged from the breeze, ached at the freezing cold of the river further down in the valley.
The thunder of footsteps shocked him back to himself, wrenching the spell and the rune apart.
“What is it?” Bertus asked, and Kevon realized he’d gasped aloud.
“I…” Kevon began, “Felt footsteps. A lot of them.” He re-energized the rune, and reached down with his mind, coaxing a column of stone from the mountain’s roots below into rising. The earth rumbled, and a nearly smooth cylinder of rock shook its way upward, stopping only when it touched the ceiling.
He reluctantly pushed the power away, and his hands dropped to his sides. The spell had not drained Kevon as much as he thought it would, but the control required to focus the extra power flowing in from the mountain had nearly broken him. Exhausted, he recalled a time not so long ago, and not too far from here.
“Fire is easier to use when it’s hot, Water when it’s raining. It’s rarely useful.”
Kevon’s friend, the Mage Pholos, had been right. He wondered if it would have been more difficult deeper in the mountain. He was in no hurry to find out.
The Seeker looked at the sides of the tunnel entrance, and after a brief inspection, decided the raised stone pillar would prevent even small imps from getting into their new sanctuary. He got to his feet and walked back toward the cavern, feeling the top and sides of the passage as he went, instead of trusting the feeble glimmer from the blocked entrance. He waited until he reached the large chamber before calling up his Light spell. When he powered the spell, the sphere shone dully, and rapidly consuming energy Kevon was already low on.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Kevon suggested, as the light grew dimmer before vanishing completely.
Chapter 9
The Warsmith woke hours before dawn, too anxious to return to sleep. He called a dim sphere of light into being, and crept closer to the blocked off tunnel entrance. Nearing the magically raised pillar, he sat, turning sideways to brace his feet against one side of the passageway, propping his back against the other. After a few minutes of wriggling, he closed his eyes and tried to rest until dawn.
Twice, brief bouts of scratching on the stone snapped Kevon back to full alertness, but each time, the noise lasted only a few seconds before ending in a flurry of wingbeats.
At the first sign of light, Kevon went back to the cavern to wake Bertus.
“Is Waine?” Bertus gasped, startling awake.
“No.” Kevon answered. “It’s morning.” He lit a torch with his Art, and handed it to his friend. “It’s time to leave.”
The Seeker went back down the tunnel, leaving Bertus to gather their belongings. Just short of the obstructed entrance, Kevon sat and reached out to touch the walls as he had the night before. Focusing intently, he trickled power into an Earth rune, and spread out his senses to the valley outside. He sensed no immediate danger, as he had before. Relieved, he shifted his attention back to the tunnel, and forced the stone pillar back down until it was flush with the floor of the cave.
He struggled to cut the power from the rune without losing control of the magic. Even as the spell concluded, the rune still tugged at the corner of his mind, as if it were insisting to be used. Kevon stood and hurried out of the cave, breathing deeply of the fresh morning air.
The scene outside was eerie. The spots where the orcs had fallen were trampled flat and picked clean. Kevon saw not a bit of blood or bone, but found a few fragments of torn cloth and leather.
Bertus walked up alongside Kevon and set the bags down on the ground. “They’re eating everything…” he whispered. “Do you think…”
“Waine’s fine,” Kevon said firmly, as much for himself as for Bertus. “We need to move, quickly. We don’t know where the…” Kevon trailed off as he thought for a moment. “I need to check something.” He walked back into the cave, and knelt just inside the entrance, a palm spread on the smooth stone floor.
The Mage pushed his will into an Earth rune, then instead of feeding it any more magic, concentrated on guiding the sympathetic energies that were collapsing in toward him from the surrounding mountain. He spread out his senses as he had don
e earlier, but widened them exponentially. Time stretched, and Kevon became the valley. He felt the sharp sting of the stream cutting its way down to the ocean. He felt the itch of a band of orcs miles distant, and fought back the cascade of power that tried to push its way into him to shrug them off. He felt a sickening, festering, something buried deep to the west, the portal at Gurlin’s tower. Something large stirred, but before Kevon could sense any more detail, he felt a different spell probing at him. Kevon cried out, shoving at the influx of power from the mountain with all his might. The connection severed, he fumbled at the pouch around his neck, and touched the iron ring within, discharging the rest of his magic, leaving him feeling both vulnerable and safe.
The memory of the valley lingered even though the connection had been severed. He could guess what path the orcs would take, based on their heading and the surrounding terrain. If not for the night creatures, Kevon thought they could reach Gurlin’s tower in two days, if they headed straight for it instead of skirting around the vaslley for hiding places. He stared toward the north, where he thought the other magic had come from.
“Mirsa.” Kevon growled. “There’s no one else. She’s headed for the ruins.”
“The Mage from…” Bertus began, “How do…”
“Someone close felt me using magic, and started looking for me.” Kevon answered, rising and walking to where Bertus stood with their belongings. He waved his hand at his friend, showing the ring. “This should keep her from finding us directly, but we need to move. Now. We can’t let her catch us here.” He strapped on his swordbelt and knife, then hefted the bag of supplies that he was going to carry.
“Here,” Bertus said, digging two small pieces of fish out of one of his sacks and handing one to Kevon. Bertus slung his crossbow’s carrying strap over his head and a shoulder and shifted it a few times before picking up his bags and taking a bite of his fish. “Which way?” he asked between bites.
The Seeker pointed toward the northwest. “That way. And we’re not going to rely on finding caves, we’re going straight for it.”
Bertus nodded and started off in the direction Kevon had indicated, without pause for concern or question. Kevon smiled and followed.
After a while, Kevon stepped around Bertus and began leading through the obstacles in the terrain. His memory of the valley was not as sharp as it had been earlier in the morning, but he could recall details fairly easily as they walked. Kevon had already chosen the point at which they would cross the stream, and shortly thereafter, they would be able to follow the road the rest of the way.
The Seeker walked, half-alert, but confident they would not have any trouble, at least today. The soft plodding of footsteps twined with the whisper of burlap across the tops of the tall grasses. The rhythmic noises would have lulled Kevon toward sleep had he not been so concerned with the task at hand, and the whereabouts of Waine.
A new sound grew, the rushing of water as they neared the stream. The path Kevon took led down to the water where it widened and slowed; there were places where the gravelly bottom was less than a foot deep.
Mildly annoyed with the prospect of getting wet, Kevon infused the Water and Control runes he’d been readying with power, and stepped down.
The water parted upstream and flowed around Kevon and Bertus, creating an eye-shaped space where the rock-strewn streambed was merely damp. The phenomenon traveled with them, the water gurgling loudly as it splashed back together downstream.
Near the center, where the water deepened, the spell became easier to maintain. Kevon felt a flicker of awareness expanding, much as he had the first night he’d used Earth magic in the cave. Opening himself up to it, he could taste the differences in the types of earth the water ran through. Upstream, he tasted fish, and with a flick of power, formed a geyser that spurted a large salmon in a glittering arc over the far bank to land in the high grass. Bertus’s laugh so close to his ear shook Kevon’s concentration, and water splashed his boots.
The Mage refocused and resumed his walk across the stream. They climbed out on the far bank, and Bertus laughed again.
“Maybe you should go get the fish,” Kevon snapped.
The boy started over to where the salmon still flopped wildly. “Maybe you should take your ring off if you want to use magic,” he called over his shoulder.
Kevon glanced down to where the ring shone dully on his right hand. “I…” he said, weakly. He was still unable to speak when Bertus returned with the subdued fish. He tried to fathom why this time had been different, but could not think of anything. “Why now?” he wondered aloud.
“Well,” Bertus began as he crouched near the stream to clean the fish. “You did forget you were even wearing it.”
“Could it be that simple?” Kevon formed a Fire rune, and summoned a flame into his upturned palm. “No,” he commented. “That’s not it.”
Bertus continued cutting. “Now that you know you can do it, there might not be any problem with it anymore.”
He considered Bertus’s words. Could the simple act of conquering one’s fear of metal, and having faith in the magic be all it took? The possibility excited and scared Kevon. If it were true, it made him vastly more powerful, and a bigger threat to Warriors and Magi alike. Being able to handle a sword like he used a practice blade…
The Seeker reached to the sword at his side, and felt the magic jolt out of him at the first touch. He sighed. “It’s just the ring,” he grumbled.
Bertus nodded, and finished filleting the salmon. “I guess that means I’ll have to start the fire, then.”
Kevon ignored the jibe and collected some dry branches from under a nearby tree. Before he returned, Bertus had already cleared the area of grass and dug a shallow pit.
Soon the fish was sizzling over a nearly smokeless fire, supported by slender green branches that Kevon had helped Bertus arrange over the pit. The method was much faster than Bertus had used on the previous catch, and was intended for immediate consumption, rather than long term storage.
Kevon wandered up toward the road, which he knew was less than a quarter mile distant. He topped a small hillock and scanned the valley. He was not surprised when he saw only trees and grass, given the impression from his spell earlier. Curious, Kevon knelt and spread his palm on a patch of bare stone. He focused, and an Earth rune sprang easily to mind. He directed his senses downward, but only got a vague sense of the immediate area before his magic was depleted.
Kevon had felt only the slightest influx of magic from his contact with the stone. He worried that his plan might not work, that he had brought Bertus with him to die once night fell.
I just touched the sword… He thought, nearly laughing as a sense of relief washed over him. I’ll be able to do more once I’ve recovered.
Kevon returned to the firepit just as Bertus was finishing the cooking. Bertus pulled the fish off the flames to cool, and Kevon pushed dirt back in on the pit, choking the fire out with a minimum amount of smoke.
“If we follow the road for another three hours,” Kevon said, rinsing his hands in the stream, “We’ll be halfway from the cave to the ruins. “That will give us plenty of daylight for me to prepare our shelter.”
“I was starting to wonder about that,” Bertus admitted. “No caves around here.”
Kevon smiled. There were three caves within easy walking distance, he knew exactly where from his survey this morning. However, he was in no mood to fight for them. “Something that Waine said a few days ago… that we’d be better off burying ourselves in the open,” He stopped short as Bertus sighed and rubbed at his eyes.
“I think I can do a little better than that. Once I get down a little deeper, I’ll try to make an underground cave that they couldn’t get into.” Kevon patted Bertus on the shoulder, and added, “Waine’s probably already waiting for us at the ruins. Wondering what’s taking us so long, and getting sick of orc-jerky.”
“And wearing leaper-hide trousers,” Bertus added, smiling.
&nbs
p; “Right.” Kevon chuckled. “So we’ve got some catching up to do.” Spirits only slightly lifted, Kevon hefted his share of the supplies and resumed the march northwestward, bearing more west than before. This path would intersect the road later on then their previous heading, but would find them considerably further when they stopped.
“There,” Kevon said, some three hours later, wiping his brow and pausing to drink from a waterskin. He pointed up the road to the few standing remnants of the Tower that could be seen from a distance. Two sections stood opposing each other, looking ominously like horns peeking over the crest of the hill ahead.
“So that’s where all of these things are coming from?” Bertus asked.
“I certainly hope so,” Kevon answered, drawing a sideways glance from his young friend. “If it’s not there, or if it isn’t just a Portal to the Dark realm, we did all of this for nothing,” he explained. “It’s strange to think that I’m hoping this turns out to be the worst possible thing I can think of, because it may be the only thing we can deal with.”
They walked a while longer, until Kevon spoke again.
“This should be far enough,” he said, gazing at the broken tower in the distance. “If we start early tomorrow, we should reach the ruins not much after midday. I suppose that’s the best time to deal with such things.”
The Seeker set down his share of the supplies and walked down to the stream to refill his waterskins. Bertus followed with fish, berries, and some bread that Kevon hadn’t known they still had.
They ate silently, watching the sun slide closer to the mountains that lay beyond the ruins.
At last, Kevon sighed. “Are you ready?” he asked Bertus.
Bertus turned and relieved himself on a bush, then washed his hands and face in the stream. “I am now,” He headed back up to the road where they’d left their belongings.
Kevon returned to the road a few minutes later, but crossed without stopping to pick anything up. He formed an Earth rune, and wandered around a small area until he felt a mental tug from below. Kevon bent down and scooped away handfuls of dirt until he exposed the bare rock below. He cleared an area about three feet in diameter before stopping to rest.
Journeyman Warsmith Page 7
