by BJ Hanlon
The rain didn’t stop and they didn’t make much distance any of the days. They didn’t have tents and as far as they could tell there were no overhanging rocks or thick-leafed trees that would provide much cover.
The fourth night out of Intelians they stopped and tried to light a fire. It took Berka many strikes on the sparkstone for Edin to finally feel enough of a flame to get a hold of it. The flame seemed to writhe in his hand while fighting the wet damp wood.
Finally, the fire caught hold and crackled but it took a lot out of Edin. Just like the gloomy day and the constant tapping of rain. It took a long while before Edin was finally able to drift off while cold and huddled up near the fire.
Edin woke multiple times and eventually was the last to be on sentry duty. He sat with his back to the fire barely awake and completely exhausted. When the dark turned to gray as the day broke behind the curtains of clouds, he roused the group. They were tired like he was and frowned more than a noble snot that didn’t get all of their presents on their birthday.
“Coffee anyone?” Edin said throwing more damp sticks on the small fire. He pulled out the pot and added the grounds and water to it.
“Of course, coffee you little blotard,” Rihkar spat. “Do you think we’re going to drink water with breakfast?”
Edin shot Rihkar an angry glare but said nothing. They had little coffee, enough for today and possibly tomorrow, but who knew. The rain continued as they ate some damp cheese and damp dehydrated meat. Edin guessed it was ham but couldn’t be sure.
“Why don’t we do some Oret Nakosu to warm up?” Dorset said helpfully.
Edin didn’t even look at his friend and said nothing when Berka spat. “Why don’t you go play with yourself.”
Henny said little. The beast of a man was leaning against a tree and sniffling nearly continuously. He sneezed and shot ashes up onto Rihkar.
“You califoo!” Rihkar shouted, his voice hoarse and he suddenly fell into a coughing fit.
Dorset threw a stick at Berka. “Go play with yourself, ginger boy.”
Edin leaned back and closed his eyes.
“What, is the great and powerful hero of the world too good to look at us now? Do we not fit your idealized group dynamic anymore?” Dorset nearly shouted. Then he sniffed and coughed.
Edin felt the tickle too but held it. “Everyone just shut up!” Edin spat. “My mother used to tell me ‘if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all’,”
“Your mother never left the manor,” Berka said. There was rumbling and suddenly Berka was up on his feet with a mound of earth protruding from where he’d been sitting. Edin heard a rip and saw Berka’s trousers had a slash in them.
Edin laughed. It felt good to laugh but soon it turned into a raspy cough. They were all laughing now, all but Berka.
“Blasted magi,” he muttered as he began to search through his pack for new trousers.
When they finally got back on the road, not an easy task, Edin had to coax everyone with promises of a bed for the night if they could make Carrow.
They pushed harder that day, passing another caravan in the rain. The road was getting sodden and thick ruts began to form that the carts and the oxen followed.
Their boots became heavy as the mud caked on like mortar.
After a few hours, they had to stop. They sat on a fallen tree that had sunken into the ground an inch or so and let the cold, unceasing rain wash over them.
The white cloak of Edin’s wasn’t waterproof and though he was warm in the core, his head and everything below the knee was chilly and nearly frozen. As he sat there, he pondered making the rain into snow and building a shelter out of it like Yechill and he had done.
That got him wondering about Yechill and the dogs and if they were alive. What if they were on their way south and stopped by the army? Edin should’ve warned the duke.
Another regret of his.
Eventually, they started again. There was no way out of the mud and there was no talking. He watched them all shiver and wished they’d have somehow gotten some horses or at least a cart pulled by oxen.
The afternoon turned to black night as the forest slowly began to spread apart. Edin saw the road that led to the winery off to his right and the T-shaped towers of vines all barren in the cold winter of the northeast. When would their fruits begin to blossom? Would they ever again if those nasty, grimy swamps of old made it this way?
There was grass here and at least they weren’t sleeping in the mud. Each would have to get clothes laundered when they reached the city. If they ever reached the city.
In the dark, he again spent much time and energy starting a fire and fell asleep almost immediately. He dreamed of the lake and again of the overlook upon which the eyes had seen. But it was nothing new. It wasn’t someone forcing their way into his mind as it had the morning the lighthouse had burned.
It was a memory of that and in the morning, the picture hung with him. Someone had to know of that lake. There had to be some sort of village in the mountains or maybe just a cabin of someone trying to escape the rule of the nobles.
The dream didn’t offer anything else other than a clear sky and a reflective lake with movement down on the edge of the water. He wondered if it was a view from the northern part of the valley of the elves, though he didn’t see any elves and didn’t see any forests. In the stories they’d always been forest dwellers and the she-elf he’d met seemed to be very at home there.
Edin looked up at the shy gray sky again the fifth morning out and was happy that at least the rain had stopped. Though for how long he couldn’t say. They grumbled again this morning. No one seemed to like anyone else much anymore. Edin understood. This was a terrible journey. At least the rain didn’t pound and they didn’t have to suffer the blizzards of the glaciers. This may have been the worst weather any of them had ever seen.
Heck Dorset and Henny had lived in a bubble of near perfect weather their entire lives.
They got back on the road, watching as the mountains rose in the west, appearing through a fog that seemed to be rolling toward them.
They couldn’t be too far from the city now, a couple of leagues maybe, Edin thought as they started out. At one point, he thought he could hear a scream on the wind but after stopping and waiting for a full two minutes, he thought it was just his imagination.
Later, about an hour into the journey, he thought he could smell smoke but couldn’t see any. To the right, the fog was creeping closer. It was a giant slow bulbous cloud that wanted to smother them like a blanket on a cold night. Though that would’ve been nice, Edin thought shivering again.
“Don’t like the look of that,” Rihkar said from behind them. The eldest of their group, Rihkar was a bit under fifty, and at least Edin saw he’d still have his hair at that age, if he lived that long.
Then Edin noticed what looked like dark shapes, independent of each other and moving near the bottom of the clouds. There was a row of them like some sort of wall that was advancing. How many, Edin didn’t know but the shivers were not from the cold now.
“Hold,” Edin said. He reached out a hand and felt for the wind that seemed nearly still now. The group stood behind him as he summoned what little energy he could find from the surrounding area.
“Let it flow through you…” Rihkar said.
Edin ignored that. He didn’t have time to try something out again. He was too worried, too nervous by the look of that cloud and the black shapes inside it rolling toward them. They were possibly still a mile away and cresting a small hill but to Edin that was close enough.
A moment later he caught onto it and formed a giant gust. He began swirling it around near them and letting it grow.
Someone yelped. “Twister!” but no one ran and soon it was the size of the manor and roared louder than anything he could think of. Edin couldn’t hear anything beyond the squealing of the windstorm before him.
He felt sweat beading down his head and swayed slightly
. Someone put a hand on him to steady him. A moment later, he let it burst forth. It roared toward the advancing line of dark shapes and fog.
Edin didn’t need to be psychic to know what those were, or at least guess what they were.
The tornado was there in less than a minute.
Edin had to close his eyes as it moved further away. He began to hear his companions yelling and heard something. He felt things in the fog and then felt something else fighting him for control of the talent. Tussling with him like one of those wrestling matches Henny had been a champion of.
There was a moment when he thought he had the upper hand. But then suddenly all of the strength slipped from his legs and Edin dropped to the side of the road. He felt winded and exhausted. He sneezed and then fell into a coughing fit. All he heard was “dematians” and felt himself being lifted. A few moments later, he was over someone’s shoulder as they were jogging down the road. He heard rumbling and screaming war cries from somewhere, but he had no energy even to open his eyes and look.
“Carrow!” someone shouted. It was hoarse and he thought it was Dorset, or maybe Berka, but it didn’t matter. They were within sight of the city.
Edin buzzed in and out of the world like a fly annoyingly coming around the head in some game to drive you completely mad. He felt the pain of a thick shoulder driving into his stomach and when he was able to look, he could only see the rear of a massive man, Henny, and the field below his feet.
Then he heard the rushing of the river beneath them. It was near deafening as the water poured forth around the city and into the ocean.
Barely audible he heard shouting. “Messengers from Duke Sinndilo,” someone screamed. “Open the blasted gates, you blotards!” The voice was hoarse, and he couldn’t put a face to it.
He heard shouting from above and eventually the creaking and cranking of chains and a portcullis rumbling open.
Edin forced his eyes open and glanced up. His chest pounded and before him, he saw a pack of dematians running down a hill toward them and the bridge. It didn’t look like too many, but at their front, Edin spotted one that wore bones on his chest and carried a staff.
It took only a glance to see it wasn’t the dematian king he’d met, but he knew the demon had power. He was connected to the talent. There was a great wind that began pounding through his ears and Edin saw grasses, small leaves, and scraps of unknown substances flying from the earth and heading toward them.
Then they were moving again and the portcullis was slammed followed by the giant gates. Somewhere above them, he heard “loose” followed by curses. Then screams of incoming.
Edin was set down on something hard and when he looked up, he saw a blurred light overhead and he thought he was in a room. He had to be in a room.
“Are you okay?” Dorset said standing over him. He heard Rihkar talking with the guards. They seemed to be discussing plans of attack. He thought he heard ‘hundreds’ and ‘dematian mage.’
Edin blinked the blurriness from his eyes and tried to nod. “Thirsty,” Edin said and it felt like an understatement. His throat had become extremely dry. Edin drank and it cleared his mind for a moment. Then his mind moved around again, slow like the fog, and there was only silence coming from around them. He glanced at Dorset who also seemed to be concentrating on the noise. The other three had gone, possibly to fight.
“What happened?” Edin croaked out.
“Don’t know, your twister took out a swatch of dematians and cleared the fog. But there were a lot more and they attacked.”
Edin shivered and tried to push himself up to a seated position. He felt weak and frozen. Worse than when he was on the glacier. He sneezed and then coughed. He was getting sick at a time when he couldn’t be.
“You can’t,” Dorset said and slowly pushed him down. “You need your strength.”
Edin couldn’t even fight the strength of his geeky friend who had a red nose and bloodshot eyes. A few minutes later Rihkar appeared and said the dematians retreated back over the hill toward the mountains.
“Maybe a hundred,” said Rihkar, “they launched a volley of spears and arrows that flew farther than any a man could ever shoot and then they retreated back over the hills and toward the mountains.”
Dorset said, “so much for the wall Sinndilo is building.”
“I’m guessing there is more than the one tunnel beneath our feet,” Rihkar said.
“How many did the dwarves build?” Asked Dorset.
“Don’t know, they were the highways of the small folk.”
“And we don’t know what happened to them either?” Dorset said. “It’s not like they left a map for us to find.” He paused for a moment and looked thoughtful as Berka and Henny came into the small storeroom with a guard.
“Who’s the messenger of the duke?”
They looked at Edin who was carrying the missives himself. He hoped they weren’t completely soaked and therefore illegible. He also wondered what the letters said.
“Me,” Edin said. “Though I believe I’ve caught a sickness.”
“A healer lives near here,” the guard said. “I believe she’s got a healthy supply of mintweed.”
Edin groaned, though he knew it’d help. “Take this, she’ll get you patched up right away,” the guard said holding out a small ring. There was a signet on it that reminded him of the duke’s heraldry. It was almost the same. “I’m Ashtol’s,” he paused. “I was Ashtol’s cousin.”
“Thank you.” Edin said weakly. It took him a while to get on his feet again. Henny helped him cross a couple of streets and make it to a small building with the healer sign over the front door.
It took a few knocks before an old man came to the door. When he saw the ring, he ushered Edin and Dorset in. The other three headed out to get a room at an inn for the night. Edin would need a good sleep and hopefully a bath. He was shivering like crazy now even with the cloak.
After a long steep and a lot of near yakking up of the tea, Edin was able to get it all down. It was just as bad as he remembered.
Henny appeared a bit later and led them to their inn. The name of which Edin didn’t know or didn’t care. They found rooms with beds. “No more of that blasted cold and wet ground.” The big man grumbled.
As he laid down, he wondered why the dematians ceased their attack and then why they attacked in the first place? Were they testing the city’s defenses? Getting a better look at the split river that surrounds the city?
He woke up in a cold sweat sometime in the night. His teeth were chattering and his body burning and sweating. Edin felt like a piece of steak that’d been frozen and thrown directly on a grill.
The room was dark and he heard someone sleeping in the twin bed next to him. Soft snores of his roommate.
Edin laid in the bed, half awake and half asleep for most of the rest of the night. He threw the blanket off himself only to be so cold less than three seconds later that he had to pull it back on.
He’d never be able to deliver the messages like this and few people were excited to meet with a sick blotard. Not even healers enjoyed it.
He’d have to have someone else deliver the messages to the High Priest and the Earl of Carrow.
Maybe it was for the best. A magus delivering these messages may not have been the best idea in the first place. Especially to the High Priest Vewto.
He tried again to fall asleep but could not. After hours, he pulled his near frozen self from bed. There was a dawning of gray light outside. Still no sun.
Edin hoped to get a bath, a very hot and steamy bath.
Edin dressed in the damp clothes in his sack and threw his cloak on over them. He shivered and his teeth chattered like dematian talk. Edin tried to sneak but woke Dorset.
The first sign was the bed creaking followed by, “What the heck, Edin?”
Edin shivered.
“Why are you—”
“A hot bath…” Edin pushed out. “Need it.”
“Why didn’t you wak
e me, you bloody blotard? You’ve got a damned flu.” Dorset threw a robe over him. “Stay here.” He grumbled and rushed out, leaving Edin alone in the cold room.
Edin sat and looked out of the window and knew another dreary day was coming.
A few minutes later, Dorset returned. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “I’m laying down now. If you need anything wake me.” Though his words offered help, he laid and turned around so his back faced Edin. Not a very helpful look.
Edin grew impatient, that was easy when you’re sick and annoyed and your teeth are chattering. He crept down the stairs into the main room at the inn. He found the baths through a hallway. It was steamy inside and he saw the attendant who offered wine.
“Tea,” Edin said. “With a bit of whiskey if you have it.” His resolve to not drink already in the sewers.
It wasn’t mintweed, thank the gods, and the whiskey and tea seemed to clear his sinuses a bit and broke up the congestion in his chest. Edin stayed in the steamy bathhouse for an hour or more. He nearly passed out in the tub and only woke to full attention when he snorted a bit of water into his nostrils.
After he finished, he headed back to the room with his old clothes on and feeling the dirtiness and crustiness of them. After a whiff, he gagged.
On the end table was a steaming cup of something. “Mintweed tea, your majesty,” Dorset said, his face embedded in his pillow.
Not the bedside manner of his mother. Heck, it wasn’t even as good as Horston. “Thanks,” Edin said, but didn’t touch it.
After a bit, the rest of the team gathered in the room. Edin tried to smile at them but was far too sick at the moment. He could barely talk. “In the pack,” he said, “three letters. Henny, use the letter to commandeer a ship, hopefully one that is ready to leave today or tomorrow.”
“Dorset can you—”
But Dorset interrupted and said, “I’m going to see if there’s information in the library about the dwarven tunnels.”
“Me too.” Said Rihkar, “if we can find out where those monsters came from, maybe we could close the entrance off.”