Mathagarr felt for his sword hilt and scanned the trees with a restless eye. They didn’t seem that forbidding. In fact, with the thin sprinkling of snow, they looked almost pretty. Still, Regecon had warned him of undead and even given him silver-tipped crossbow quarrels and a guild wizard to ensure their safety. He was not about to throw caution to the wind and march into the woods unprepared.
He turned to Methoin. “Is there nothing you can do?”
The fire mage shrugged. “My magic is called flamecraft. It is dedicated to combating an enemy after he has been found, not searching one out in the dark of night. In my opinion, you are being paranoid. Sending a lone scout just because the terrain has changed and you are worried of ambush seems rather foolish to me.”
Mathagarr bit back an angry reply. He did not appreciate the mage’s remarks in front of his men. Regecon had placed Mathagarr in charge of the mission, and then provided Methoin as an afterthought. Obviously, Methoin did not consider himself under the guard captain’s authority. He would let Mathagarr lead, but Lubrochius would turn from darkness before some mages would show a soldier deference and respect. “Do you have a suggestion, Mage?” He tried to keep the anger from his words, but a sudden straightening of the mage’s back showed that he had failed.
“We should waste no more time and rejoin the scout in the woods. After all, undead are not known for setting ambushes. They tend more to the mindless march and the fight unto death ...very much like a soldier.” The mage’s voice had trailed to a murmur for that last part, but Mathagarr still heard him. Although angered, he did not reply. He knew a losing battle when he saw one. Once they returned to the guild, Methoin would remember any slight received tonight and pay it back in full, probably with interest. Mathagarr contented himself with staying silent, and patiently waiting for the scout to return. The man appeared several moments later.
“The forest road is clear, sir. No sign of wolves or anything else for a hundred yards in every direction.”
Mathagarr nodded. So the wizard was right. It mattered not. Next time, he might not be. “Let’s move out, men. We have half an hour until dawn and I want to be past the Black Rapids by the time the sun rises. Re-light the torches and pick up the pace.”
The torches would allow their small group to wind their way with ease through otherwise difficult terrain—at least until the sun came up; then they would no longer be needed. There was a catch, though; as long as they burned, they would make their party more visible.
I hope that’s to our advantage, he thought, as the two orange bursts of light flared up on either side of him. Undead fear fire, don’t they? He fingered a silver quarrel nervously. If the undead were actually drawn by the light, there would be some serious fighting to do. If, on the other hand, the three men they sought were drawn to the light, all the better. Unfortunately, from his understanding, the men were a good quarter of a day’s ride into the woods. If they drew anything to the light at all, it would be undead.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 42