Journeyman Warsmith

by Chris Hollaway

  “Of course! I’ll learn the entire Dwarven language while we travel to Eastport.” Mirsa huffed. “Shouldn’t take more than a few years.”

  “Or you could find a Dwarf,” Bertus suggested, adjusting the canvas that covered the supplies in the wagon.

  “What do Dwarves care of magic? It’s not as if they could use it.” she retorted.

  “We could convince one to care?” Kevon asked, more to frustrate the Mage than help.

  “Have either one of you ever seen a Dwarf?” she snapped.

  Both Warriors shook their heads and mumbled.

  “They are foul, violent creatures that…”

  “How many Dwarves have you met?” Kevon interrupted, peering at the Mage.

  “That’s not the point,” Mirsa huffed, climbing into her saddle. “It’s well known that…”

  “You might have used those words to describe Warriors not so long ago.” Kevon took his time checking the fastenings on his own saddle. “And yet you trust us with your life now. Might the same be true of others?”

  “No one would expect us to go that far north,” Bertus added, hoisting himself up to the wagon’s bench and taking the reins. “As far as anyone knows, even our allies, we’re headed straight for Eastport.”

  “We’ll assume the entrances to the city are being watched, and that riding with Mirsa may give our position away.” Kevon chewed his lip for a moment. “Correct?”

  “I can try and fashion a charm to protect against scrying,” the Master Mage offered, “But for now, yes.”

  The corners of Kevon’s mouth twisted up into a grin. “Can you have such a charm ready in a week?”

  * * *

  “This is good for the night,” Kevon announced, directing the wagon off the track just before it crossed a small stream. “We’ll double back in the morning, after we test Mirsa’s Enchantment.”

  The Mage pulled a necklace from a robe pocket, and swept her hair aside to fasten the leather tie around her neck. The carved wooden charm that hung from it settled against her skin, but she could not sense it as she would have another powered rune. The other Enchantments that she felt about her dulled in her mind’s eye, causing a measure of concern, followed by a rush of relief as she realized the charm was working correctly.

  “It’s working,” she told Kevon, stepping down from the saddle and handing off her reins to Bertus. “It’s a crude Enchantment, hurried far more than any other I’ve even assisted with. I can sense the power draining from it, much like the barrier beneath Gurlin’s tower, only faster.” She ran her fingers across the raised rune on the surface of the charm. “As long as we’re adding to the spell daily, until the Enchantment is strong enough to hold on its own, we should have nothing to fear.”

  Kevon climbed up into the wagon and removed his weapons, placing them in a chest that he’d pulled out from under the seat. He stood for a while, looking up and down the road, scanning the tree-line for unwanted observers. Confident that no one was watching, he formed an Illusion rune and threw up a vision of wooden walls closed in around him while he changed from his Warrior’s garb to his Mage robes. He dropped the Illusion, and put the medallion he wore around his neck in the chest with his other equipment, replacing it with the seashell necklace gifted to him by the Myrnar.

  “Our journey should be much safer now,” Kevon announced, stepping down from the wagon. “Our pursuers must not have great resources, if they have been unable to Send forces directly to us. There may be other places that are better prepared to Send to, ahead of us. If they are watching the entrances to Eastport, I’ll wager they’re not looking the direction we’ll be coming from.”

  “You think the coastal roads are in good enough condition to travel that quickly?” Bertus asked.

  “If they’re not,” Kevon answered, reaching deep within himself and downward into the ground beneath him, causing a low rumbling with the minor shifts the spell was effecting. “We’ll fix them ourselves.”

  Bertus waited for the noises to stop and the horses to calm before leaving them picketed near the stream and returning to the wagon to dole out provisions. “Do you think we’ll see some of the Sea-Folk?” he asked, eyeing the necklace about Kevon’s neck.

  Kevon shrugged. “Marelle seemed to think…” He choked on the words as he realized what he was saying. “The Myrnar do not usually have anything to do with Men. So, no.”

  The Mage took a deep breath and continued. “Two Magi and a single Warrior will not be what they are looking for, though the wagon might draw attention.”

  “I don’t have any reason to go back there,” Bertus confessed, “Other than to help you out. We still need to find a Dwarf for Mirsa…”

  “You don’t need to find me…” Mirsa yelled, quieting and narrowing her eyes to slits when she saw the Seeker’s smile.

  “Yes,” Kevon mused. “The two of you will continue on past Eastport, to the Dwarven Hold in the northwest. I can find out what Liah knows, and decide what to do from there. Most likely I’ll need help, so I can catch up to you before you even see a Dwarf.”

  Chapter 28

  Kevon’s predictions about the Myrnar held true, but it seemed as if everyone else was travelling the coastal road. They had met over a dozen groups headed south since they had made the turn northward. They had also overtaken four wagons and two other bands of adventurers making their way toward Eastport.

  The highlight of the journey thus far had been spotting a trio of Elves camped off the road one morning after beginning their daily trek. Kevon had been checking the road ahead, and noticed the camp being struck, and one of their hoods had fallen back, revealing the brilliant yellow hair, pointed ears, and fragile features for a moment before the covering was replaced. All three elves had turned to watch him ride past, but Kevon turned his head, obscuring his own features within his robes. If they want to travel in secret, he thought, I’ll not begrudge them the same courtesy I wish for.

  Only days later did he mention it to the others, bringing a surprised expression to Mirsa’s face. “What reason would they have for going south, on foot?” she asked.

  “They may have had horses,” Kevon added. “I didn’t see any, but I wasn’t really looking.”

  Mirsa shook her head. “They can travel nearly as fast through the woods as we can on the road with the wagon.” She thought a few minutes more. “The only thing of interest to them would be the capital,” she decided. “But it’s strange that they would take this route, rather than a direct one.”

  “What would they want in Navlia?” Bertus asked, throwing another stick into the evening fire.

  “Something they could not get in Eastport,” Mirsa answered. “An audience with the Prince, perhaps. They are almost certainly not going to the Southern Frontier, all of their weapons are made from wood or bone. Elves avoid metal nearly as much as Magi do.”

  “Maybe they were looking for a boat,” Bertus suggested, pointing at one of the more frequent sail-clad vessels they had seen as they neared the port city. “That would keep them on this road.”

  “Why would they not meet a boat in Eastport?” Kevon asked. “It’s the only safe place to land a craft on this half of Purlon.”

  “I can think of people and things that I would not want anywhere near Eastport,” Mirsa grumbled, gazing out over the water. “Myself included.”

  Kevon chuckled and finished the last few bites of his dinner. “Agreed. I may only be there a few hours, depending on Liah’s information. There’s really nothing left for me there.”

  “Judging by the ships we have seen, we’re no more than three or four days away now,” Bertus estimated. “We need to be ready in case we’re challenged by those fanatics again.”

  “I think we’ve been more than a match for the ones we’ve come up against,” Kevon said, grinning. “You two together should be able to handle anything that comes your way, as long as you stay alert. I’ve still got my advantage over most Magi, too. They have all relied mainly on Fire and Darkness�
�”

  “They would not have been able to use Earth magic in the Palace in Navlia, because of the wards built into the stone of the castle,” Mirsa advised. “There will be no such protection here.” She shot a piercing glance at Kevon. “We’ve seen what one using Earth magic can accomplish, with only the barest of instruction.”

  He nodded. His dreams of late, in addition to the ones about the destruction of the tower, had been about the defeat of the Orclord. Well, the running away before its defeat, mostly, he amended inwardly. “That could be a problem.”

  * * *

  Hours later, a lancet of flame lit the darkness, and Kevon moved out of its path as he focused his will to deflect it enough that his movement would be effective.

  “You’re moving again,” Mirsa snapped, and Kevon felt the magic building around her for another spell.

  “I don’t want to get hit,” Kevon retorted, smirking and unleashing his Art moments before the Master Mage’s spell bloomed.

  Unable to sense the magic Kevon worked, Mirsa called a fireball into existence, but as soon as it formed, it was batted downward, exploding with a dull whump at her feet. “Better,” she admitted. “But what would you do about…”

  Kevon felt the connection form between Mirsa and the sea that lay a few dozen yards from their practice battleground. He formed the rune of Negation that Mirsa had shown him, paired it with his own Water rune, and began attacking the bond, trying desperately to sever the influx of power before she could manage to bend it to her purpose. The swift attacks interrupted, but did not collapse the flow of power, which seemed to grow thicker, more resilient. He tapped into the energy himself, and swung the runes like an axe, cleaving the link again and again, until it finally sputtered to a halt.

  “Hah!” he laughed, sides heaving from the effort. “You finally ran out of…”

  The wave pounded him to the ground, cutting his taunt short, along with his breath. The salt stung his eyes and the brackish taste seeped into his mouth. Sputtering, Kevon stood and studied Mirsa, who still held a looming ribbon of sea water in a magical grip that he could not feel.

  “You split your focus,” he said, spitting brine and smoothing his drenched hair back. “You made me deal with the power I could feel, while preparing an attack I couldn’t.”

  “I didn’t make you do anything,” Mirsa laughed. “If you’d looked, rather than trusting your mystical senses, you might have been able to counter me.”

  “Lesson learned,” Kevon acknowledged, wringing out a corner of his robe. “Can I dry off now?”

  Saying nothing, Mirsa turned and strolled back to camp, and the fire Bertus was cooking over. Kevon followed, boots squishing as he walked.

  Chapter 29

  “We’ll camp here,” Bertus informed Kevon as the Warsmith returned to the motionless wagon. “Eastport is only an hour away, you might be able to reach it before you lose the light.”

  Kevon scratched his stallion’s ears, hoping to quiet the animal’s restless stamping. “All right,” he agreed. “Sunrise, then, each morning, I’ll remove my ring, and you can search for me?” he confirmed with Mirsa. Seeing the Master Mage’s slight nod, he wheeled his mount back toward his destination. “Two, three days… A week at most, Good fortune to you!”

  The stallion took no urging to break into a gallop toward the city, but slowed as the light waned faster than Kevon anticipated.

  The Mage’s heart beat faster as he crossed the bridge over the canal that flowed from the city, and saw the closed gate. He shook his head, and pushed aside his irrational fear, drawing nearer to the entrance to the city.

  “Hullo!” he called, when no one challenged from the gatepost. Moments later, a face and a torch peeked over the high wall.

  “Who goes there?”

  Kevon called forth a glowing sphere of light, revealing his station to the guard. He looked up enough so that the bottom half of his face was visible, but his eyes remained shadowed by his robe’s hood.

  “Let him in!” cried his observer, and the gate began creaking open.

  Kevon rode slowly in, avoiding eye contact with any of the guards around the gate, and keeping aloof, which was to be expected. So much for my nightmare, he reassured himself, riding for the nearest inn. The streets were empty of all traffic, and any threats would be immediately visible. He reined the stallion to a halt under a sign with a bird of hammered metal depicted on it. ‘The Copper Canary’? he wondered as the door opened and he stepped down from the stirrups. Stablehands and servants surrounded him, taking his saddlebags and leading the stallion around the corner.

  Too many… he thought, as they pressed in on him. There were only three at the Maiden, and it was respectable… The dress of the brigands surrounding him was not consistent, as would be the case if they were employed by the inn. Runes flashed to mind, and he prepared the correct combination that would allow him to break free from the pack, distance himself from them and return to the gate to beg for help in recovering his things.

  Jostled for a moment from behind, it seemed the world spun as a voice slick with hatred uttered two words that chilled Kevon to the bone.

  “Die, Mage.”

  Panic flared along with the Fire rune that Kevon readied, but the spell fluttered into darkness as the pain lanced white-hot into his back, and he knew no more.

  Chapter 30

  Bertus stirred the crushed leaves into the hot water already in the fragile-looking cup, and waited as his companion sat, seemingly lost in contemplation. The light brightened, and the warmth of the morning sun played across her face, casting a glow through her auburn locks that disturbed the Seeker’s sense of propriety.

  “Nothing,” she said, opening her eyes, and taking the offered tea.

  “It’s only been two days, Mirsa.” he reminded the Master Mage, “He might have solid information he could act on. We need to trust him.”

  “I don’t like it,” she protested. “He knew what dangers we feared in Eastport. For him to not even allow us to know that he is still there?”

  “Between the two of us, we should be able to convince the Dwarves to help us,” Bertus said, starting to pack away the rest of the supplies. “Besides… If anything has happened to Kevon, it’s probably too late to do anything about it.” He looked Mirsa squarely in the eye. “Without him, we may need whatever’s in that book to keep ourselves alive.”

  Mirsa ruffled the Novice’s hair with a velvet gloved hand. She had seen Bertus grow in confidence in the season since she’d met him, and was growing to appreciate his presence more than she cared to admit. At times, she saw shades of Pholos in the young Warrior, a naïve goodness she’d been unable to appreciate in the Journeyman Mage she’d studied with when she was wrapped up in her own bitterness. The things Bertus had seen and done had given him perspective, without changing him for the worse. “We’ll see what the Dwarves have to say.”

  The Master Mage retrieved her charm from the seat of the wagon, and placed it around her neck, dulling her extra senses, but keeping her nearly as safe as Kevon’s ring kept him. She gathered her things from around the sparse campsite, and stowed them in the wagon. By the time she was ready, her horse was already hitched to the back of the wagon, and Bertus was climbing up to the seat and readying the reins.

  * * *

  A week further north, the salt air of the sea to the east faded for the more familiar pine scent of the evergreens the road now twisted through. As the terrain steepened, Mirsa could feel the power in the mountains poking into her awareness, even through the protection of the charm she’d enchanted.

  The energy feels different, she thought, as she probed the aura of the mountains with her mind. More organized, guarded. I’m not sure if it would be easy to draw from or not. She decided against trying. Not only was there no need, as there had been on the other side of the Realm, but the difference in the way the power felt was unsettling.

  “Another week, you said?” Bertus asked as evening settled in over their campsite.<
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  “You need to sleep,” Mirsa admonished. “It’s a third night, you deserve the extra rest.” The Master Mage tossed another log onto the fire, and shrugged deeper into her robes. She watched as the young Warrior drifted off in his customary spot beneath the wagon near where the horses were hitched, for the first decent sleep he’d had in over two days. She smiled as she watched his hand clench reflexively around the scabbard of the ancient sword that rested by him. The Seeker had taken the extra responsibility of night watches on when Kevon had left them, only taking more than two hours of rest at a time every third day.

  Mirsa placed the last log onto the glowing remains of the fire, and watched it crackle back to life. She would wake Bertus when it had burned down more than halfway. Shadows thrown by the flames danced against the side of the wagon and the surrounding trees in a hypnotic fashion, almost as if…

  * * *

  The sound of restless horses woke her at the same time as Bertus. The youth rolled out from under the wagon, drawing his sword and casting aside the scabbard. Standing with his back to the conveyance, he peered out into the newly illuminated gloom. A globe of light hung over him, bringing an eerie almost-midday glow to the surrounding area. The flaming tip of Mirsa’s staff provided the warmth and color the sterile light above lacked. She swept in alongside him, leaving adequate room to maneuver, adding her eyes to the search for the disturbance.

  The log on the fire still burned, not even halfway consumed. “Only minutes,” she whispered in Bertus’s direction. “I fell asleep… I…”

  A rustling in the wagon further alarmed both the horses and humans. Bertus leapt back, brandishing regal steel at his unseen enemy, while Mirsa stepped out and away, leveling her weapon toward the noise, the eager runes begging her for release.