by Demi Harper
The warrior ducked inside the tent, clearly relieved to be out of the ceaseless rain. Then he frowned. "Where's Ben?"
Twenty-Eight
Freedom
Benin
Raindrops sizzled and hissed around his head and shoulders. Aura of Heat evaporated the falling water before it could touch him, leaving Benin warm and dry and silhouetted in mist like some kind of fog spirit.
Several feet away, Pyra was surrounded by her own aura. He'd been worried for the emberfox at first; he knew low-level fire elementals were vulnerable to water; heavy rain could even fully extinguish the weaker ones, smothering their fiery life force so much that their physical bodies eventually failed as well.
Thankfully, Pyra was far from weak. She shone brightly, a glowing beacon against the monochrome sky. Heartened by the sight of her, Benin dared a step closer.
Immediately she emitted a low growl. Her tails flared and her ear twitched in irritation.
"Why do you hate me?" he asked miserably. She ignored him.
They stood together but apart, staring out at the driving rain. It pattered against the canopy of trees in the woods behind them, splashed into muddy puddles around them, thundered against the grassy ground before them.
After a while there came a different sound. The plink-plink of water dripping onto metal. Benin rolled his eyes and braced himself for company.
Can't a mage find a moment's peace?
He turned to see Coll emerging from the trees. His chainmail glinted dully in the gray stormlight. The warrior had stayed awake late into the night to noisily clean, dry and re-oil every link in the mail hauberk, driving Benin—who was already struggling to fall asleep thanks to the impertinent she-gnome that had taken over his bedroll—near mad with the constant rustling and squeaking.
The gaps between the chainmail were not waterproof, and since the big idiot had foolishly given away his raincloak the night before, drops trickled freely through the gaps. The padding underneath his mail must be soaked. Benin's gaze traveled downward. And those leather breeches must be chafing like crazy.
But Coll stomped along with his usual doggedness, as though his clothes weren't carrying an extra twenty pounds in water, and his only concession to discomfort was to readjust his crotch with one hand while he waved to Benin with the other.
"Caveman," said Benin, lip curling as the warrior continued to rummage in his trousers.
"If you don't like it, stop looking." Coll grinned. He gave his stones one last scratch, then removed his hand, raising it instead to shield his eyes from the rain as he looked upon the expanse they'd traveled the day before. "It's good to be on the open road. You liking the taste of freedom, Ben?"
Benin snorted. "I'd hardly call it a road. More of a swamp so far. And the only thing I can taste is bathos."
“Bath ass?”
“Bathos. It means… disappointment. Anticlimax.”
"Huh." Coll sounded surprised. "I thought you'd be happy to get away from the Guild. I know I never really realized what a weight it was till we left."
"A weight?"
"Yeah. Like, I feel like I can finally think for myself now. I feel lighter. Freer. Before, it was like I was being pushed down. It was really impressive."
"You mean oppressive."
"That too."
Benin thought he was referring to the kind of social and academic pressure he himself had experienced, and was somewhat taken aback at the idea of them having something in common. "How so?"
"Well, obviously it was strict. We had guard duty every week—all the phys’ classes do—and we'd sometimes be on call even when we weren't on the rota."
"On call?"
"Yeah. If the on-duty guards want backup, they call for those who're, well, on call. Like the reinforcements that came when we robbed the Menagerie."
Benin frowned. "I didn't hear them call. Those two just showed up."
"It's not like a shout. It's more of... a compulsion. Like, you'd just know you were being called. And you couldn't refuse it. No one who's taken the oath can."
"Well, isn’t that nice and sinister." It was also highly implausible, but Benin couldn't be bothered getting into it right now. Arguing with Coll often felt like pushing the proverbial boulder up a hill: repetitive, exhausting, and ultimately pointless.
"It's okay. I haven't felt it since we left the Guild." Coll breathed in deeply. "I feel... free."
"Must be nice," said Benin bitterly.
"You don't feel free?"
"Freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be," Benin told him. "Didn't you hear what I said to the Core back there? Mages are obliged to answer to a Guild-approved tower. Those that don't are labeled 'rogue.' 'Wild.' 'Apostate.' We're more than just outcasts; we're threats.
"It's all very well for you and Tiri. You can both learn your crafts anywhere. If I get caught practicing magic, I'll be turned in. Or lynched. And if the Guildmaster catches wind of me, I'm finished."
"But we're heading away from the Guild. Into the wilderness. Surely that's a good thing? Surely you'll be safer out there?"
"Safer to do what? Babysit a bumbling bunch of tiny people? No, I'll see them through their journey—for Tiri, because I owe her one—and then that's it."
Coll faced him, eyes wide. "What d'you mean? What will you do after?"
Benin didn't answer. For all its issues, he had to admit he missed the Guild’s comforts, and he was thinking longingly of hearth fires, warm study rooms, a soft mattress, and a roof over his head.
A raindrop hissed and spat as it evaporated beside his ear. He shook his head to clear it of such ridiculous rose-tinted thoughts. Warmth and shelter? Those weren't Guild comforts; they were home comforts, and if there was one thing the Guild had never been, it was a home. He'd been unhappy since the day he first set foot there. A gilded prison, that was what it was.
And whose fault was that? Who had made things that way?
Varnell had been in charge for almost five decades. Despite being a mage himself, he was the one who'd pushed the edict declaring magic-users too dangerous to exist outside the strictures of the Adventurer's Guild. He was the one who personally had it out for Benin and the others.
When they were done with this little trip, this so-called exodus, maybe Benin would go back and pay him a visit. No more running away. If Varnell were the source of everything that was wrong with the Guild—everything that was wrong with Benin—then maybe it was time someone removed him from his position.
"Ben?" Coll was looking at him with concern. "Corey's called a council. That's the reason I came to find you. Coming?"
The warrior gave him a tentative smile. His short hair was plastered to his head, his face was glistening with fresh rain, and his testicles were apparently still itching fiercely, yet still he was smiling. When Benin nodded resignedly, Coll turned and led the way back beneath the trees. The emberfox followed.
Still Benin hesitated. He couldn't help but feel as though this forest boundary was the point of no return. If he chose to go back to the Guild right now—turn in himself and Pyra, and apologize—maybe he'd be spared punishment.
Who am I kidding? He'd defied orders, gone AWOL, and stolen from the Guildmaster. No matter how repentant he might be, it was far more likely that he'd be sent to the cells. Or the gallows.
So with one last glance at the open sky and nothing to lose, Benin headed back to the camp, raindrops sizzling around him.
Twenty-Nine
Council
Corey
"Where have they gotten to?" muttered Ket. She flitted away again to check for the humans' approach.
As much as I wanted to get this council over with and get us all back on the road, I was actually glad of Benin's temporary absence. I glanced around to make sure he wasn’t there, then turned my attention back to my two scavengers.
"Put it back," I said sternly.
Swift and Cheer glowered at Ris'kin as she took the suspiciously spherical sack from their hands and turned it upside
down. One of the mage's alchemical globes came tumbling out. Shaking her head, my avatar picked up the globe and returned it to Benin’s bag, flicking her tail in annoyance at the troublesome pair. Droplets from her thick fur showered Swift and Cheer. Muttering, they gathered up their empty sack and went off to find mischief somewhere else.
There were other reasons I was somewhat glad of the delay, not least of which that it was a relief to be sheltering in the confines of the tent. The light of day outside was making me increasingly nervous, and the fear of being sucked up into the empty space if I looked at it for too long was enough to make even my incorporeal form feel queasy.
I busied myself going through the details of various gnomish vocations and abilities, until the stomp of boots announced the humans’ arrival.
“Let the council commence,” Benin drawled as he entered the tent. “And please gods let today be better than yesterday.”
I bristled at his tone. "Look, I'll admit it's been a less than smooth start—"
"If by 'less than smooth' you mean traumatizing your minions with monsters and near-drowning." Benin chuckled meanly.
"I did what I could. You weren't exactly leaping to help us," I retorted.
"Are you kidding? I was up top with—"
"Now, now," said Bekkit, his tone infuriatingly calm. "Bickering will achieve nothing. We're all in the same boat here—"
"I thought it wasn’t a boat?" I muttered.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
The sprite narrowed his eyes at me. I basked in Ket’s silent approval, and took the opportunity to reclaim control of the conversation.
"Okay. We need to figure out where the hell we're going. Bekkit is the only one of us who's done this before, so he'll advise on the best course of action."
Benin took out the maps and began explaining the notes Tiri had made about distances and terrain. I listened carefully, but kept half my attention on what was going on outside.
While we talked, the gnomes outside the tent continued to break camp, rolling up their thatch tents and reloading the carts. Clothiers repaired garments and boots. The two farmers bent lovingly over their soil-filled wheelbarrows, gently probing and watering their precious creations, and doing other gardening-type things.
Warriors from different color groups drilled together in formation, practicing their signaling under the watchful gazes of their drill sergeants Hammer and Graywall. I once again congratulated myself on coming up with that particular innovation. Moral discomfort aside, the Possession ability cost precious mana and took me away from my god's-eye advantage. The signals would limit the time I'd need to spend possessing them, and would make them quicker to respond in emergencies and changes of circumstance.
It had become obvious that adaptability would be the key to our continued survival. With the Possession ability cut off from me completely, it had been a relief to know I could still use Ris'kin or Gneil to communicate with my denizens via the signals. But now, better yet, my night’s study of new vocation information had revealed that those gnomes with a ‘leadership’ vocation—including military officers like my drill sergeants—could be directly instructed to perform the signals via the Augmentary without me needing to go through anyone else.
When I returned my full attention to the council, I was somewhat taken aback to see a couple of the children had wandered in. They stood beside the scattered maps, looking down at the papers.
I thought back to mine and Ket's vague plans to put a barrier around my shrine to protect me from my own people. Does no one in this tribe understand the concept of boundaries?
The younglings were clearly unable to read the unfamiliar symbols, yet they mimicked Benin's body language as if they were. One stroked his chin thoughtfully, while the other folded her arms and hunched her shoulders, frowning at the map. I could tell the mage was ever so slightly affronted by this, but was doing his best to ignore them.
Recalling my own past desire to set impertinent gnomes on fire, and knowing how readily available that option was to this particular human, I nudged Ris'kin to remove the children from the tent.
I needn't have bothered. As Ris'kin moved toward the tent's entrance, Emrys came marching in through it. The nurse looked stern, his bald forehead set into a stony frown.
The juveniles gulped when they saw him. Emrys raised his eyebrows at them and pointed at the tent flap. They jumped to their feet and scurried outside, heads bowed in contrition. Emrys—a former warrior, I recalled—snapped a sharp salute and followed the two children from the tent. I heard him barking orders the instant he was outside.
Coll seemed impressed. "Little guy might be a short-ass, but that's a serious pair of lungs he has on him."
"A pity we can't understand one another," Benin murmured, as if to himself.
Coll's face lit up. "That would be amazing. We could teach each other swear words!"
"Yes, the possibilities for social betterment are beyond imagining," said the mage dryly.
My attention was still on the open tent flap, through which I caught sight of one of the scouts striding past.
Since they’d been wearing it out in the open, the wrinkly mole-rat armor had undergone a sort of curing process, turning darker and tougher and even more unsightly, something I’d have thought to be impossible. The material’s enhanced toughness offered even more protection to its wearer. It also brought each scout’s resemblance to a walking chorizo to impressive new levels. I was about to point this out to Ket when Benin, whose eyes were also on the scout, spoke.
“I keep meaning to ask: what in the flames are your scouts wearing?”
“Armor,” I said shortly.
He snorted. “Made from…?”
“Mole-rat hides.”
“Explains why it’s so ugly. They look like walking ballsacks.”
He was right. But only I was allowed to say that. “It might be ugly, but it’s functional,” I told him.
“And what about your scavengers? Your clothesmakers? They’re decked out in all kinds of weird shit. Is that functional?” He laughed. “I swear I’ve never seen such freaky fashion sense.”
“They’re just expressing themselves,” I said hotly. Ket smirked.
Bekkit cleared his throat. "Back to the matter at hand. If we keep traveling north-north-west as straight as we can go, we should reach the outer boundary of the circled area within thirty days."
"How long did you say we have left?" asked Benin.
"Thirty-nine days and twelve hours."
"And seventeen minutes," I added.
"Okay, so that will leave us with more than a week to search the area after we arrive. That should be plenty of time, right?"
"I'm not so sure," I said. "Tiri's circle encompasses half a mountain range and part of a forest. That's a lot of ground to search."
"Do you think she's all right?" Coll interrupted. "Tiri, I mean. It's really not like her to say she'd meet us and then not turn up."
"I'm sure she's fine." Benin waved a hand as though Coll's concern was a particularly irritating fly. "She probably just got her nose stuck in a book and lost track of time."
The warrior's face fell at his companion's lack of concern. I couldn't tell if the mage was genuinely that cold or just putting on a brave face, but I added, "He's right. She seems like a capable woman."
"She's certainly shown that she can take care of herself," Ket agreed.
But Coll was still frowning. "Maybe I should go back and find her."
"That's up to you," I told him. "But you'd best decide quickly. It's time for us to leave."
To the others, I said, "Keep an eye out for any sign of pursuit by the Guild. And for local wildlife. I don't want any more nasty surprises like that monster owl last night."
Everyone agreed. Benin rolled up the map and started putting everything back in his bag, frowning when his hand brushed against a chemsphere and came away muddy. There was an air of tension, of eagerness. This was a challenge, but we were ready
for it.
We'd just have to push ourselves and the gnomes to the very limits of their endurance.
Thirty
Gnomads
Corey
It turned out the limit of the gnomes' endurance was far greater than that of the humans.
At first Coll and Benin were practically dawdling, slowing their pace so as not to leave the rest of us behind, while the gnomes—barely a fifth of the humans’ size—pushed themselves hard. Eleven hours later, the gnomes were sweating and clearly exhausted, but nowhere near as much as Benin and Coll.
The mage was dripping with sweat. The aura of heat in which he'd been so smugly enwreathed that morning was gone, and he seemed to welcome the still-pouring rain that cooled him even as it drenched his clothes and plastered his hair to his skull. He was limping, a result of several new blisters he hadn't ceased complaining about, and the hem of his red robes was stained dark with mud. Now that darkness had fallen again, I'd moved as high as my newly limited SOI allowed in an attempt to escape his whining; from up here he looked like a child's figurine that had been partly dipped in brown paint.
A tiny spark on his right shoulder indicated that Bekkit was hitching a ride with the mage. The emberfox was hunched on his other shoulder. From what I'd seen of their relationship so far, I suspected this new closeness was not out of affection on the fox’s part but simply a desire to be as far from the sucking quagmire as possible. Tiny spots of darker red on Benin's robes showed that his familiar's claws had drawn blood, but unlike every other hardship, the mage tolerated this one without complaint.
Predictably, Coll had been far more stoic than his companion, but I could tell the sustained march was already having an effect on him as well. Where before he'd been deliberately dawdling so as not to pull too far ahead of the gnomes on their much shorter legs, now he seemed to be struggling just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.