by AC Cobble
“If you take a rabbit tomorrow with that bow, we’ll consider it even,” said Rew.
She hefted the weapon, accepting the challenge.
Jon leaned forward and put another branch on their fire. “Getting chilly in the evening, isn’t it?”
Rew rubbed at his beard, thinking it was getting a bit wild and that it was past time for a trim. He said, “The next few days we’re going to need to collect some spare firewood. A bundle of wood is no fun to carry uphill, but the pass will take us two days to navigate, and there are no trees in there. The wind blows through like the breath of a banshee, and we’ll want what heat we can make for ourselves.”
“Anything you can do?” Zaine asked Cinda, wiggling her fingers.
Cinda pursed her lips. “There are a number of castings which could provide heat, but I worry too little heat isn’t going to do us much good, and too much…”
Zaine grunted. “Firewood it is, then.”
“I’ve an idea,” said Anne, and she searched about until she found several fallen leaves. She cleared a space near their fire and set the leaves down in a row. “A dome of mild heat is not a terribly complicated spell, but you’re right, it’s the control which is difficult. Maybe we can do some practice this evening. These leaves, if exposed to too much heat, will ignite. We can begin by adjusting your range. See if you can enclose one of them at a time, and then we’ll start adjusting the temperature. We probably won’t get it right away, but winter is approaching, and you never know when such a skill might be useful.”
“Hopefully by the time winter gets here,” declared Raif, “we’ll be sitting in front of our father’s fire, drinking giant goblets of mulled wine and doing nothing more exciting than scratching the hunting dogs behind the ears.”
Anne offered him a mirthless smile, and Rew wondered what the empath suspected. She didn’t know any more than he did about the mystery of the spellcaster and the narjags, but she knew people. Was she inferring something about Baron Fedgley’s plans from what the children had said or what she’d sensed through her empathy? He’d learned her senses were as sharp as anyone’s. If she felt something was coming, even if she couldn’t articulate what it was, he was inclined to believe her.
With grim thoughts and unanswered questions, Rew told the group half-jokingly to keep an eye out for rock trolls then laid out his bedroll and retired for the night. An hour after midnight, he was woken by Zaine crouching down next to him. She nodded when she saw his eyes open then moved off to her bedroll. Rew yawned. He felt like he hadn’t slept a wink.
Soundlessly, he slipped out of his bedroll and stretched. His body was used to sleeping on the hard ground, but two weeks of near constant travel and now the incline up the mountain were taking a toll on even him. Anne was still offering her healing to him and the others, and Rew knew he could not accept it.
Shaking his head and donning his cloak in the cool air, he rifled through his pack for his pipe and his leaf. He thumbed the fragrant leaf down into the bowl and found a small stick on the ground. He put another thick hunk of wood onto the flickering embers of their fire then lit the small stick. He held the tiny brand to the bowl of his pipe and inhaled, drawing the fire in and watching it dance across the dry leaf. He puffed several more times to get it burning hot and then flicked the stick into the fire. He began to pace, circling the camp at the very edge of the firelight, looking away from it, out into the rocks and trees around them.
They’d lost much of the cover they’d had at lower elevations, and sometime tomorrow, they would pass the tree line. There would be no cover from the vegetation after that point. The rocks would provide a little shelter to camp beside, but there would be few places that could hide all of them if they saw narjags or the spellcaster.
Again, Rew wondered if he should travel ahead and scout the safety of their path, but again, he worried the others couldn’t survive against a larger group of narjags without him. Against just twelve of the Dark Kind, the two men had taken serious wounds. Cinda had been ineffective, and Zaine had caused some damage but not enough to make it a fight the swordsmen could win. No, the party needed him close.
His feet falling silent, Rew moved with a grace that came from twenty-five years of practice. He did it without thinking even in the dark of night. He circled out farther, enjoying the cool air as he left the warmth from the fire entirely behind, the pipe smoke trailing behind him as he walked.
When his pipe was finished, he tapped it out and stuck it into his belt. He kept walking, taking slow strides, his mind unfurling directionless. He had some thought that such unfocused consideration might tease loose a piece of the puzzle, but instead, it nearly brought the end of him.
With a jerk, he stopped walking, one foot hovering just above the soil. Carefully, he lowered his foot, looking up into the trees ahead of him.
There, perched on a branch, was a vivratu. Its neck, curling like the body of a snake, waved sinuously as it stared at the camp. Its body, the size of a dog, was hunched down, clawed feet gripping the wood of the tree. Its wings were pulled tight on its back, but as Rew watched, the creature flexed them, the thin membranes looking solid in the dark of the night.
Vivratu weren’t unknown in the wilderness, but it’d been five years since he’d last seen one. They were Dark Kind, conjured from the same realm as the narjags but with none of the intelligence or ability to follow commands. Vivratu were thoughtless but cunning hunters. They would wait until prey came within range then glide down from a tree on spread wings. They would dart with their long necks to strike, sinking fangs into a victim, and then, they would flap away where they would claim another perch and wait patiently for their victim to die.
Their venom wouldn’t kill instantly, but there was no known antidote. The creatures were not of this world, after all. Instead, the choices came down to amputating a limb, if that was where the fangs sank in, or granting a swift end to avoid the agonizing, half hour-long descent into body-wracking spasms. Eventually, the spasms would grow powerful enough to crack bones, ending when the victim’s spine broke or their head thumped one time too hard on the ground from the convulsions.
It was better if the victim died, then, because even paralyzed, they would be aware of what came next. Vivratu had small mouths, so they could not swallow a person whole and didn’t have the strength to tear off a hunk of flesh. Instead, they bit down and allowed acid to seep from their mouths, dissolving skin and muscle until it was soft enough from them to strip it away, gobbling the mushy, acid-soaked bits down their gullets. And like that, they would slowly consume a person while the person was trapped in frozen agony, watching themselves being dissolved and eaten, bite by bite.
Rew shuddered. Of course, he’d never seen it. If someone was bitten by one of the creatures, any true companion would immediately end the suffering. If the victim was alone, their best bet was to do what they could to end it themselves.
All of this flashed through his mind as he stared aghast at the vivratu in the tree. He knew little about the capabilities of the thing’s senses, but it hadn’t heard him yet. He thought it possible they had little ability to smell, or maybe his pipe had covered his odor. The disgusting creature could see, though. It was watching the sleeping companions around the campfire, its sinuous neck bobbing, like a child selecting which delicacy to take from the baker’s counter. The vivratu spread its wings to their fullest extent, and on slender legs, it raised its fat body, its snake-like neck coiling tight. It hissed and gave a little hop then launched itself from the branch.
Rew surged after it, leaping over a fallen log and dodging beneath a low branch. The vivratu glided through the forest, its awkward body somehow looking comfortable in the air as it coasted around the thin trunk of a tree. Then, it was in the clearing, and half a second later, Rew burst out after it.
He bellowed, “Watch out!”
The party, exhausted from days on the road, dead asleep, did not react quickly.
Rew yanked his longsword off
his back and, in the same motion, threw it. The blade, not meant for throwing, spun in the air. He kept charging after the vivratu, drawing his hunting knife and shouting a cry of celebration when the longsword thunked into the vivratu.
The creature, focused on its prey, didn’t see the blade until the length of steel pierced it, skewering its fat body. The vivratu flapped its wings, twisting its neck to see what had happened to it. It crashed to the ground, clawed feet kicking in the dirt, wings flapping helplessly
“Stay back!” yelled Rew as Jon staggered to his feet, longsword in hand.
The vivratu, spitted by the blade, was not dead yet. Its long, sinuous neck twisted violently, black eyes reflecting the light of their fire as it searched for its attacker. It opened its mouth, baring its fangs and showing off the acid sacs on the sides of its cheeks.
Rew circled it, coming from behind. He reached out with one hand and gripped the vivratu’s snakelike neck. It jerked against his grip, and he nearly lost his hold, but he kept it long enough to bring his hunting knife around and slash through the neck, severing the vivratu’s head.
His heart hammering, Rew tossed the severed head into their fire and then immediately went for water and a rag to clean his blade. Left untouched, the acid from the vivratu’s neck could ruin the steel of the knife.
“Sorry about that,” said Rew to the startled party. “By the time I saw it, it was already poised to strike.”
“What-what is that?” stammered Zaine, wide eyes fixed on the corpse of the creature.
Rew glanced down at it. “Vivratu. A Dark Kind from the same plane as the narjags and ayres. They were brought here but never used by their conjurers. They’re no more intelligent than our native animals, but they’re extremely dangerous. I imagine that those conjurers of old realized the vivratu could not be controlled and then simply ignored them. Through the years, they’ve persisted in the wild places of the world.”
“Dangerous…” said the thief, shivering, peering at the fire-blackened, shriveled head as it popped and sizzled in the embers of their campfire.
“Are they common?” asked Anne, shivering in disgust at the dead, bleeding body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.”
“Not common,” said Rew. Then, he ushered everyone back into their bedrolls, encouraging them to try and get back to sleep.
He and Jon dragged the vivratu off into the forest and kept watch while the others covered themselves back up. Fitfully, they tossed and turned. Sleep was a long time coming for each of them.
Whispering, Jon said, “Senior Ranger, if anyone else had been on watch…”
Rew nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he’d been thinking the same. If anyone else had been on watch, they would have lost one of the party. It was a grim thought.
“Get some rest,” said Jon. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for some time.”
“I’m wide awake as well,” replied Rew.
Jon turned to him. “Rew, if a vivratu was in this area, it’s safe to assume there is nothing else out there that will come at us tonight. You and the other rangers told me how protective they are of their turf. Bears, rock trolls, even a simian would avoid that thing. Now is the time for you to rest.” The younger ranger looked to where they’d deposited the body. “You’re going to need it because we’re going to need you.”
Grunting, Rew walked to his bedroll and crawled in. He set his longsword beside him and pulled off his boots, but otherwise remained clothed. Jon was right. In the vivratu’s territory, they wouldn’t be bothered by anything else. But the next day and the day after… someone would have died if he hadn’t been on watch. He had to stay alert if he was to protect the younglings.
Chapter Twelve
They hiked farther up the side of the mountain, and as they rose in elevation, the temperature dropped. The party wrapped their cloaks tight and kept moving during the day to stay warm. At night, they attempted to shelter behind rocks or the backs of ridges, but once they passed the tree line, there was no escaping the bitter wind. It blew over them constantly, chapping faces, tugging at their clothing, and pouring a constant deluge of cold air over them.
“Now that I think about it,” muttered Rew, “the last time I crossed this pass it was summer.”
Her jaw shut tight to keep her teeth from chattering, Anne glared at him.
“It won’t be so bad once we get to the other side and start down,” he offered. “That’s, ah, just three more days. Of course, it will be a bit worse in the actual pass.”
They pressed on, placing steps carefully on the scree-strewn slope of the mountain, angling their way up in a zigzag pattern, hiking a dozen paces apart so any rocks they dislodged as they walked didn’t go tumbling back into one of their companions. Below them, stones bounced and slid, and Rew worried they would come across more of the narjags. The side of the mountain would be an awful place to fight the creatures, and amongst the pale gray rocks, there was no place they could quickly hide. But fortunately, they saw none of the Dark Kind, and they hiked higher with only the desolate landscape to challenge them.
By the end of the first day past the tree line, the world had transformed into pale gray. Looking ahead, all they could see was the chalky stone of the Spine and the steel-colored clouds that wreathed its crown. It was only during sunrise and sunset they could differentiate between the two. The stone of the Spine evoked the bones of some fallen giant crashed down upon the ground, crumbling and eroding over the ages. Regularly, Rew looked behind them, absorbing the comfortable green of the forest far below. He felt those quick glances at the verdant woods were the only thing keeping him sane.
“I suggest we no longer have a fire at night,” advised Rew. “It will be cold tonight, and it’s only going to get colder, but outside of the cover of the trees, it will be visible from half a league away. And the wind is strong enough tonight that it could carry the scent of burning wood and meat for leagues. It will be uncomfortable, but it’s too risky.”
The others grunted. They’d gone silent, their thoughts kept to themselves, their energy conserved for the difficult uphill trek.
Rew added, “It’s one more steep push tomorrow morning, and then we’ll be into the pass. It’s relatively flat hiking there, but it’s not easy. We’ll be in the narrow for two days, and I’ll be honest, it’s not an enjoyable place to walk.”
“The narrow?” asked Cinda.
Rew nodded, not bothering to explain, and the noblewoman evidently couldn’t summon the energy to inquire further.
After they ate a cold meal and cleaned as best they could with limited water, the group moved around, kicking rocks and trying to find a flat place on the stone to lay their bedrolls.
“I don’t think I slept a wink last night,” complained Raif, picking up a fist-sized rock from where he’d been trying to lay down, glaring at it, and tossing it down the slope. “Not sure I will tonight, either.”
“You can catch up when you’re on your feet tomorrow,” jested Zaine, though no one laughed. It was too close to the truth.
“Not much more of this,” assured Rew. “You wanted to avoid the roads, and we have. I can’t imagine anyone chasing you is going to be able to follow us all this way. Without a ranger to guide them, they probably couldn’t even make it to the Spine, much less figure out where to climb over it.”
Cinda smirked. “I’m willing to admit, Senior Ranger, I finally understand why you were so shocked we weren’t taking the roads. Perhaps we should have spent a little more time studying the maps and figured a way around Worgon’s forces on the way to Spinesend. It wouldn’t have been easy, but…” She gestured to the towering peaks that rose out of sight above them.
Rew nodded in acknowledgement but did not respond.
“When we reach your father,” said Jon, settling down beside the fire and helping Anne stow away the iron pots and wooden dishes they’d used for dinner, “what do you think will happen? A message to Duke Eeron, of course, but do you thi
nk he’ll assemble the army and call to the capital for more help?”
Cinda and Raif glanced at each other. They hadn’t shared the details of what they’d overheard in Yarrow, and no one had bothered to press them. It didn’t surprise Rew that there was a conspiracy afoot, and he didn’t need the details. Whatever it was, he wanted to avoid getting entangled in it, and the best way to do that was to stay ignorant.
Jon, unaware of the nature of the Investiture like most of the common folk, was filled with curiosity. He must have noticed the nobles dodging his questions, but he couldn’t help prodding them.
“To be honest,” said Cinda after a long pause, “I don’t know. Of course my father will want to alert Duke Eeron, but… I think it will depend on the duke what happens next.”
Jon nodded. He looked to Rew. “And we’ll return to Eastwatch?”
“That’s where we belong,” said Rew. “It’s our responsibility to keep an eye on the wilderness and to maintain order in the village.” Turning to the younglings, he said, “It’s not that I’m uncaring, you understand, but you’ve a responsibility to your family, your lands, and your people. Mine is to the territory.”
“We understand,” assured Raif, clenching and unclenching his fist as if he was preparing to face Baron Worgon that very moment. “We appreciate your help, Senior Ranger, and I hope you’ll learn what you need to about these narjags. I can’t say I understand what is happening with them, but it’s one more complication in a complicated time. I’d like for you to get to the bottom of it.”
“I hope your father’s arcanist can help,” said Rew. “Is it still Arcanist Ralcrist that serves in Falvar?”
“It is,” confirmed Cinda.
“Arcanists,” said Zaine. “They’re not spellcasters, are they?”
Rew shook his head. “Not at all. Usually, they’ve no magical talent whatsoever, but they have a burning curiosity about it. Arcanists are scholars who’ve dedicated their study to the magical and unnatural, the arcane. Most of them have some specialization, but out on the frontier, they ought to be familiar with the information I seek. Who could have opened that portal near Bartrim’s farm? Who could have cast those attacks against the narjags, and is there any explanation for the narjag’s behavior? Whatever those foul creatures are up to, I believe it’s tied tightly to this spellcaster we keep seeing evidence of, but how are they related? I have no idea. I can’t understand the actions of the narjags or the spellcaster. I hope the arcanist does.”