Kearika sees me on the floor and gives a ragged cry as she throws herself at the elf. She wraps her arms and legs around the its torso, stabbing it over and over again with the Zauberei knife. The blade bites deep, flinging sizzling red blood with each stab.
The elf howls and throws Kearika over its shoulders, she crashes into the ground next to me and begins to struggle to her feet again. Mendalde hits the elf in the side of its toothy face with one of her bolts and the elf staggers away from the impact. Blackened and charred flesh drops off its face in ragged chunks as it stalks towards Mendalde. Kearika looms over me, blood leaking from her mouth.
“Caius, we have to go.” She rasps, glancing over at Mendalde as she scoops up our packs and her weapon. I cannot walk, I cannot feel my legs. Kearika grabs a handful of my hood and drags me across the floor.
“Just have to get you out of here, then everything will be okay.” Kearika grinds out through bloody teeth as she pulls me out of the house. Everything is fading, but not before I see the elf tear Mendalde’s head from her shoulders.
Chapter XIX - Kearika
Duras - East of Ba’tshish
13th of Telod, 1873 MD
The sound of heavy rainfall wakes me up. I’m face down on a large stone. The rain is pouring down, running off along the overhanging stone shelf above. How did I get here?
It smells like blood.
I pull myself off the stone and roll over. Caius lays there, looking paler than normal. There’s a large gash in his robe, right by his ribs, that goes all the way to the middle of his chest. His robes are soaked in blood, and his hands are as well. Every inch of exposed skin is covered in sores and oozing cuts. I can feel my armor digging into my back, and my halberd lays on the ground covered in dried viscera.
In a panic I tear his robes open, pulling aside the blood crusted fabric to reveal a wound packed full of moss. The moss is soaked with blood, but none leaks out of Caius and onto the stone. Cotton wraps and a basic knot hold the moss in, wrapping around his chest under his robes. The blood on the dressings is crusted and rust colored, they haven’t been changed since they I applied them.
That’s right, I remember now. I had dragged Caius for almost a day into the forests outside of Adalan’s house. As we had got out of the house, Caius’s magic had kicked in. Around nightfall Caius had stopped convulsing and gone deathly still. The danger of his condition had finally sunk through my fear addled mind. His magic had been killing him.
Before I left my tribe, our chief shaman had given me a gourd filled with a mage killing poison. We’d tried to use it during the war, but poisoning mages turned out to be surprisingly difficult. The shaman had given it to me “Just in case.”
I’ll have to thank him when I get back, the poison works. I had packed the wound full of the poison and moss. Then I had dragged Caius another half a day to this stone shelf. He’s not dead, so the healing that happened must have fixed the worst of the damage at least. I’m going to run out of the poison sooner rather than later, I have to find a way to help him before then.
I’m going to need to go hunting.
***
Several hours later and I’m soaked to the bone, but I’ve caught enough game. I hope. If this works, its two I’ll owe that shaman. Carefully I cut the hearts out of my catches. Three deer and a dozen rabbits had better be enough. The heart’s blood gets drained out into the clay cup I had made before heading out into the rain. A few hours in the fire has dried it out enough to make it usable by the time I’m finished.
After the blood is in the cup I throw the entrails of the animals onto the fire, making a thick smoke. With the knife on my back I slice my hand open, adding a few droplets to the cup of blood and a few more to the smoldering fire. A fire that is rapidly dying under the wet mass of the entrails. Get on with it Kearika!
I begin praying to my ancestors, a longer prayer than I’ve used since I left my clan. I was never very good at singing in the first place, and now I’m out of practice. The extended prayer required overtones, which was something that had always eluded me when I was younger. The fire glows a dull red, a dense choking smoke begins to fill the air. This isn’t working.
“Ancestors, hear me! I need your help, your strength, your wisdom.” I intone, pressing my head to the floor in front of the fire. The coals glow sullenly, almost resentfully.
“Caius is dying, and I can’t heal him. I don’t know how! Please, lend me your knowledge.” I beg. The fire gives a spiteful pop as a single ember lazily drifts from the coals. I can’t do this.
“Please ancestors! I know he’s not one of us, but I need him to live.” I say, raising my head to look over at Caius.
He lays there, paler than ever, and I can see blood leaking from his wound through the moss. He shouldn’t be bleeding like that. Thick smoke coils around the edge of his wound, pulling at the bindings. I blink back a tear. They’re going to kill him.
Communing with our ancestors is an integral part of my clan's daily life. When we died our spirits would continue to the afterlife, but we could be called back by our descendants. That way knowledge could be passed along from generation to generation. Most warriors never paid it much heed, choosing to rely on their own strength and skill. They wanted to be called on by future generations, not be the ones doing the calling. Our spirit shamans are the ones in charge of maintaining the clan’s connection to its ancestors.
It gave them immense power, they could use the dead's knowledge and skills and could even use their spirits to work magic. The Tower had gone to war with my clan because of their fears about what our shamans are capable of. Despite their importance to my people, the shamans are always looked down upon by everyone else.
Their strength came from the achievements of others, not their own skill, so they are inherently less than everyone else. My great-grandfather had worked to change that, and my grandfather had given them the rights they had been denied previously. My father had continued that work, organizing them into their own college and allowing them to study as they wished.
My oldest sister was among those that wished to see the shamans put back “in their place.” My father and her used to argue for hours over his actions, and those arguments had been bitter indeed. There are risks involved with calling on the ancestors, they could be less than helpful or even destructive. Clearly, they’re leaning towards the latter.
“Dammit, if you won’t help me then you can go straight back to your frozen hell!” I shout, jumping up from my bowed pose. I kick the charred entrails from the fire, the smoke blazes away in a shower of sparks.
“You’re all cowards! Murdering a defenseless, dying man while he lays there!” I snarl at the fire. The fire blazes suddenly, the flames shooting up to the ceiling and growing so bright I have to avert my eyes. A deep chuckle comes from the flames.
“You really are my great-granddaughter.” A deep voice booms. The fire dies down to a normal level, the remaining entrails have burned completely away.
“You know, you could really use some practice at asking for help. If you’re going to ask us to help you with one of our enemies, you could have at least done it properly.” The fire rumbles.
“Why are you here?” I ask the flames, filling my canteen with rainwater.
“You asked for help, didn’t you?” The flames reply. I was hoping for a healer, like my grandmother, not my great-grandfather.
“How are you supposed to help me, you’re a pile of embers. I need to heal Caius, not burn him to death.” I say, walking over to the fire with the full canteen.
“Well, the rest of our family isn’t interested in providing anything to you. They’ve a very poor view of the company you keep. I wasn’t going to help you either, but I respect your determination.” The fire says, popping and crackling cheerily.
“Can you teach me how to heal him?” I ask.
“Not really.” He replies.
“Can you make Grandmother appear? She was a skilled shaman and a healer.” I ask the flam
es.
“My daughter wants no part of this. The Sik val’Kalid killed her sons and grandsons, remember?” He asks rhetorically.
I grit my teeth in frustration. This is going nowhere. I pop the cap off my canteen and slosh the water around.
“What do you think you’re doing Kearika?” The fire asks me, a note of concern in its voice.
“What do you think? You’re not helping me, you’re annoying me. I’m in no mood to be annoyed. Goodbye great-grandfather.” I tip the canteen to extinguish the fire.
“Wait! Wait. I can help you.” The fire exclaims as it grows larger again.
“I’m waiting.” I reply, tipping the canteen again.
“You really are my great-granddaughter, so impatient.” The fire huffs.
A tendril of fire dances from the coals, wrapping around the cup of blood. It flickers and jumps as it swirls around it, making it look like the cup is in the center of a flaming tornado. The fire begins to die as this continues, fading away to a few dim coals.
“Give this to him, it will help him recover but it will take a few days.” The voice from the fire says weakly, sounding distant and faint.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you again Kearika, so try not do anything too reckless.” It admonishes
“I’ll try, it’s sort of my thing.” I say sarcastically.
I pick up the cup, which is comfortably warm to the touch. I gingerly lift Caius's head and pour the steaming contents into his mouth. This better work, or I’m going to have words with him when I get to the afterlife.
“And Kearika, try to get back home soon, things are unwell there.” The voice trails off into nothingness. The fire goes out completely with a whoomph.
Well that’s ominous.
Chapter XX - Kearika
Duras - East of Ba’tshish
16th of Telod, 1873 MD
Caius is starting to look better. I’d removed the moss and tried to clean his wound. After a few hours the flesh had begun to heal, and color had finally returned to his face. Three days later though, he still hasn’t woken up. I don’t know how much longer we can stay here. The Zauberei are bound to be looking for us, and I don’t even know where we are.
The rain has finally stopped last night, and the early morning sun is peeking in through the pine boughs. I roll out my collection of maps, flipping through them and trying to find one for this area. Hmmm, this one says we’re somewhere in the Great Pine Barrens. Maybe I can find a logging camp, or a coven of Nature Mages.
My ears twitch, in the distance the faint sound of someone singing can be heard. Or maybe our luck has changed, and help will find us. The singing grows louder and I can make out several voices all singing together. They’re a little ways away. Better to meet them away from the camp. I step out from under the stone shelf, and walk towards the noise. I decide to leave my halberd next to Caius, as well as the leather armor I normally wore.
Five men with heavy packs are walking through the woods, the foremost one leading them in a cheery tune. They each have a sword on their hip and a steel capped staff in their hands. Dozens of trinkets and baubles dangle from their packs, and their clothes are made of a comfortable looking leather. Traders! Finally, a stroke of luck. Maybe they’re out here to trade with loggers?
“Hello!” I call to them, they jump and begin to draw their blades. I hold my hands out in front of me. Spooking them would be bad, I need what they’ve got.
“Who are you?” The oldest one asks, putting up a hand for the others to keep their swords away.
“I am J’laine, a traveler. I need supplies and medicine. I was wondering if you have any for sale.” I ask, feeling that a little lie about who I was would be a good idea. I have no idea who they’re talking too.
“If you’ve got the coin, we’ve got the goods.” He replies, nodding to one of the others. That man drops his pack to the ground and begins retrieving packages wrapped in doeskin.
“These ointments will help heal the wounds on your head, you won’t even have a scar.” The younger man says, gesturing to various bottles.
“These will help with the bruises you have.” He says, pointing at another row. I absentmindedly run my fingers along the scabs. I’d totally forgotten about those.
“I don’t need this for me, I need this for my companion. He’s very gravely injured, and hasn’t woken up in almost a week.” I say, giving the older man my best imitation of a pleading look. He simply stares back at me with level gaze. They’re not being terribly forthcoming.
“Please, he was injured in a fight with a Mage.” I say, trying a different tack.
The five men glance at each other, before the older one nods sharply. The youngest of them, no more than fifteen sets down his pack and retrieves a beautifully carved wooden box. Gold has been inlaid in interlocking spirals, which wrap around the entire surface. As the youngest starts unlocking the box one of the others holds up a hand.
“Wait, we don’t know she’s one of us. What proof do we have?” He asks.
Think Kearika. I pull out Alaric’s dagger. The inlay in the handle matches the pattern on the box, but the gold on the dagger is even more intricate. The men gasp in surprise and the youngest looks up at me in awe.
“A Seneschal! The gods smile on us. Please let us know how we can help you!” The oldest one says. I smile at them, putting the knife away.
"My companion was injured, and he hasn’t woken up in a week. Do you have anything that can help?” I ask them.
“Of course, Seneschal, we have just the thing. If you take us to your companion, we can help.” The oldest man says. That wouldn’t be good.
“No, that’s alright. His wounds are quite severe, I wouldn’t want to subject you to the sight of them.” I reply. “If you just give me the medicine, I’ll be on my way.”
“I’m a trained doctor, I studied for years. It wouldn’t be any trouble.” He insists. Five of them, unarmored but with swords and staves. Even in my current condition, I’m sure I can take all of them. They’re just traders after all.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” I growl. The man sighs and says something to the youngest. The youngest hesitates, his hand wavering over two different vials nestled inside. The oldest man repeats himself, and the youngest hands me the second vial.
The vial is full of a swirling silver liquid. The dancing, glimmering light is entrancing. How pretty.
“Thank you. I appreciate your help.” I say, taking the vial and turning away.
“Of course, Seneschal. Tell me, how was your trial?” The oldest asks. My what? I turn around to face the group again, a hand resting on the hilt of the dagger.
“Excuse me?” I ask with an arched eyebrow, doing my best to imitate Mendalde. All but the eldest among them shrink away from my gaze.
“My youngest, Olrin wants to take the tests to become a Seneschal. I was hoping you could give him some insight into them.” The oldest says, gesturing towards the boy.
“The trials are hard, they’ll test your mind and your body equally. If you can’t fight, you’ll die. If you can’t plan, you’ll die. If you make any mistakes, you’ll die.” I say, my thoughts drifting to the tests to become a Protector.
“I must be going; my companion needs me.” I say, walking back off into the woods. I can’t let them get out of these woods alive.
At the very edge of my hearing I pick up “Follow her. Alaric will want to hear about this.”
***
I feel like I’m always hiding in the shrubbery these days. The run through the forest had been refreshing, it’s good to feel the wind blowing through my braids. Caius hadn’t seemed any better when I had gotten back to the overhang. I’d scooped up my halberd and armor, before slinking off into the woods, hiding myself in some nearby bushes.
I’m glad I was a hunter before all this, I’m used to just waiting for my prey. The minutes crawl by as I wait, the sounds of the forest continuing on undisturbed. I don’t have any of my little tricks with me,
my pouches are all by Caius.
Finally, I hear something: the whisper of booted feet on grass. My ears perk up as I try to locate the sound. Where is he?
Crack!
A twig snaps right behind me. I roll on my side and lash out with my foot. It catches one of the “traders” in the stomach. His mottled, forest colored cloak whirls as he stumbles back. His entire face is covered except for the eyes, and he holds a wicked looking dagger in one hand. I spring to my feet as he regains his balance.
I draw the seneschal blade, enjoying the glare he gives me. We stay still, studying each other, each trying to find a way to strike. He lunges forward, stabbing at my face. I step aside, pushing his outstretched arm out of the way and wrapping my knife arm around his neck. The blade scratches against his throat and I pin his knife to his side my other hand.
“Talk.” I growl. My ears perk up again at another fleeting sound, but it’s gone before I can identify it. Someone else is out there.
I barely hear the soft twang of the bow in time, pushing my captured scout away from me as I dive away. The arrow whistles through the space where my head had been, sailing of into the woods behind me. I grab my halberd and roll behind a tree as another arrow buries itself in the ground with a thud!
I rush out from behind the tree, sprinting towards the source of the shots. The first scout has disappeared, but the one with the bow is standing in the open. Twenty feet, I can make that. He fumbles as he tries to knock an arrow to his bow. Fifteen feet. He draws the string back, focusing on his shot as I rush closer. Ten feet. I raise my halberd high, my war cry shattering the silence of the woods as I close. Everything moves slowly, his fingers sedately let the bow string go and the arrow sails towards me at a snail’s pace.
The tip skitters off a flickering patch of blue light, the whole arrow crumbling to ash as I run through it. Caius? The scout’s eyes grow wide as my halberd comes down like a meteor on his shoulders, he’s dead before he hits the ground. I tear my blade from the corpse, turning around to rush back to Caius. If he’s awake, maybe he’s feeling well enough to give me some help.
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