Once the packs were complete, each with a small bundle of cooked meats and vegetables wrapped in the large dry but pliant leaves prepared by Donalt, the adventurers gathered at Francis, who had very quickly become a kind of meeting post. Felicity took the centre of the group. He eyes were still a little puffy from the crying she had done, but her smile had begun to return.
‘I know you are all wondering what we are to do about mounts.’
Heads nodded. Light mumbles.
‘In my vision there were no horses as we made our way to the Gate.’
This intensified the mumbles, they quickly became grumbles and were at the point of becoming full-on chunters.
‘Please. This is fine. The landscape I saw was harsh, it was extremely cold and a storm raged.’
‘How is that fine?’ Corbett asked. ‘It sounds utterly shit.’
The party was split now. Some upholding the wizard’s bleak assessment, others advising him to pipe down.
‘We should head to the next village. There are few scattered about the place. We can leave Donalt and Dorian’s horses there.’ Felicity said.
‘I’m not selling my horse.’ Dorian said firmly. ‘She’s not just a damn ride.’
His attitude had hardened a little towards the girl. He didn’t like the way he had been duped by her. Despite her apparent altruistic intent, he couldn’t help but feel something more was at stake.
She had an agenda, he was sure of it. If it wasn’t for the way Spyra had taken to her he thought he might have just ridden off, back to the forests, back to Trestfall perhaps.
‘No of course not.’ Felicity quickly agreed, ‘but we can leave them in the care of a stable master perhaps.’
‘Andreton not leave Francis.’ The warrior said, with a strength of conviction that a sledgehammer couldn’t break through.
‘No. And that’s fine too. Because the co… because Francis was in my vision. She will be with us, I think. She can handle the cold, she’s of the Steppes. Just like you Andreton.’
The big man smiled. He liked the mention of his home. He missed the Steppes. The punishing weather, the desolation, the constant fighting with neighbours. He would take a holiday soon and return.
‘Daive’s sake! The cow is coming with us.’ Corbett said. Evenly. ‘You had a vision with a cow in it.’
‘Yes Corbett I did.’ Felicity answered back sharply. She now saw that the wizard’s cynicism was ingrained in him. He was going to be hard work.
‘Right. Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘This is all eleven tenths insane anyway.
‘When we get to the village and take care of the mounts I can transport us to the foot of the mountains.’ Felicity said. ‘I have a ritual that will get us there.’
‘That is how you brought me to the Town?’ Dorian said, ‘Eww.’
‘Eww?’ Corbett said.
‘Well, rituals, they’re… aren’t they? It’s all chanting and body fluids isn’t it.’
Corbett, Felicity and Valeran all stared at Dorian as though he had just announced that he was a parrot.
‘The dancing, and… chickens… and… er… boobs.’
A trio of jaws dropped a little as the magic users tried to comprehend how someone so smart could also be so dumb.’
‘Boobs?’ Felicity said.
‘Chickens?’ Valeran looked to Corbett.
‘Bodily fluids?’ The wizard said, grimacing.
Dorian blushed.
‘I just thought…’
Felicity put her hands on her hips. ‘At the departure point I carve symbols into each of the positions required to locate my destination in the Essence.’ She said, as though reading the instructions for a casserole. ‘Each symbol is invested with magical energy and will link to a place where the same symbols are found, but in reverse.’
‘It’s a projection circle.’ Corbett said, quietly so that only Valeran and Dorian either side of him could hear.
‘Projection circle.’ Valeran agreed.
‘It’s called a projection circle.’ Felicity said.
Corbett and Valeran nodded approvingly.
‘I don’t know what a projection circle is.’ Dorian said nervously.
‘It’s a magical gate that crosses space but not time. ‘It transports its occupants over great distances but without crossing through dimensional space.’ Valeran said. ‘To do so you need to have a key, and that links the gates. Oh, and the occupants of the circle must not be conscious. This is usually taken care of with…’
‘Sorcery.’ Felicity finished for him. ‘I use a simple spell that is also used by Witches, Warlocks and Shamans and occasionally Druids and Clerics.’
‘But not Wizards.’ Corbett said. ‘Because if a Wizard is putting you to sleep it’s on a permanent basis.’
‘Right.’ Dorian said.
‘I’m not sure I want to be put to sleep.’ Donalt said, joining the group.
He had made sure he caught every word of this exchange. The Ranger appeared to be one of the annoyingly noble types. All chivalry and manners. He wasn’t going to argue with a woman, cross an elder, or disagree with a professional opinion. Every single member of the group was a shifty bastard except for him. Donalt was no happy with this. Donalt liked consistency.
‘You can’t travel this way while awake.’ Felicity said, being careful not to appear condescending. ‘Because we are not tunnelling through a dimension there’s no protective barrier in place. It’s very fast and very scary when you cross.’
Donalt looked at the Wizard. This guy definitely had no friends here, so he could anticipate a straight answer.
‘S’true. I did it awake once. Shat myself.’ Corbett said without a hint of embarrassment.
‘You go asleep yourself then?’ Donalt asked Felicity.
‘Yes.’ She replied. ‘But not with a spell, with self-hypnosis.’
‘Hmm.’ Donalt replied. ‘Andreton’s very resistant to magic you know. I’m not sure you will be able to affect him.’
‘Oh?’ Felicity said.
‘Ah, yes, that’s probably a good point.’ Valeran said, his memory releasing some information from a dusty corner. ‘Steppe-landers have a tendency to neutralise magic.’
‘I see.’ Felicity said. Corbett detected a frown that she had tried to keep hidden.
‘Oh yes.’ Valeran said. ‘The sight of a Steppe-lander in the field puts the willies up magic-users. They are also very resistant to healing magic too. That’s why they usually like a Druid or Shaman around. Or a witch I suppose, if they don’t mind having
some wretched old crone fussing around them. Natural remedies you see.’
‘I suppose I could help with that.’ Dorian said.
He fished into a small pouch on his belt. There were a number of these little leather pouches around the belt and each contained the tricks he used to survive in harsh environments. And a sewing kit, which he didn’t make a big deal about. From the pouch he produced a handful of what looked like small twigs.
‘Sticks?’ Donalt asked.
‘From a Bazzle Tree.’
Dorian pinched one of the little black twigs and handed it over to Donalt. The Rogue took it and marvelled. ‘Where’d you get this? I’ve only ever seen these as powder.’
‘Oh. Here and there. Trading and what not.’ Dorian replied, quite pleased that he had impressed the Rogue.
‘Nice.’ Donalt said, turning it in his fingers. ‘How’s it work from a twig then?’
‘Boil it. It actually makes quite a fragrant tea. Normally I would cut that into an even smaller piece for a man, but your friend will probably need the whole thing.’
‘Yeah.’ Donalt said, nodding but not taking his eyes of the twig. Potions, concoctions, elixirs, he loved to make them. He often wondered at perhaps switching careers and becoming an alchemist. ‘He’s a big bugger.’
‘Corbett. Will you come?’ Felicity asked. ‘I can transport you all, Dorian, Valeran, Donalt, Andreton, Daisy and Francis, Spyra and Scout. I can get each of us
to the start of the mountains. There’s a set of symbols there which will receive the party.’
The wizard pulled in his lower lip as he pondered. That was a lot of magic at work, even using an existing portal. This girl would have to have some serious chops to pull that off.
He had hoped that Carl would have returned by now also, but there was no sign of the Demon. Kezra was strangely absent too, but then she had been dancing in his mind for a while and was probably knackered for energy.
This all sucked. That was certain. Nothing about it was good. Prophecies were always a massive pain in the arse. You couldn’t just wing it. For a Prophecy to be realised you had to fulfil it. It was like running through a shopping list of events that had to happen to complete the damn thing. Further to that, this girl, this Sorceress, was the only one who had the list.
‘Alright. I suppose so.’ He said, because at least it was transport and he didn’t have to walk. ‘But for the record I think this is all very shit.’
At this he looked at each of them for a moment, as if to underline the statement and then walked away.
Dorian saw Felicity relax a little. Clearly the foundation of her prophecy was complete. She had her party. They were all going to trust her, at least for now.
‘Let’s move then. I think Francis will be able to carry three of us. If you,’ she looked hopefully at Donalt, ‘and Dorian can manage the others?’
‘Aye, I s’pose so.’ The Rogue said.
‘Good. Then let’s go. Let us journey to your Gate.’
‘Yeah. Donalt said with no hint of excitement. ‘Let’s do that.’
They didn’t need to know that he had no clue if he could actually locate any of the Gates pictured on his map. He would save that bit of information until if and when it was required.
Trolllolol
They woke at almost the same time, with Andreton being the exception. He slept for a further two hours, with no one, not even Donalt daring to wake him. The narcotic effect of the Bazzle twig had been remarkably fast acting upon the warrior and its duration unexpected. It was supposed to offer ten to fifteen minutes of deep sleep and allow the imbiber to awake fully refreshed.
‘Do you think he will be alright?’ Daisy asked of Donalt. He could tell the Sister of Steel was genuinely concerned.
‘Oh yeah.’ Donalt said, ‘He’s got the constitution of a yak. I’ve seen him eat shoes by mistake.’
‘Shoes?’ Daisy said, puzzled.
‘Yup.’ Donalt said, and he left it at that, walking off to check his pack one last time.
Daisy looked around at the group as it prepared. They had all woken within a large circle marked out with shaped rocks that came to her waist in height. On each, a symbol had been chiselled near to the top. Daisy touched one of the strange runes, it felt warm.
At the village they had been able to acquire good trail food and both horses had been stabled. Winter clothing had been purchased. She had taken care of this. She had never encountered a more broke collection of talented people. Valeran had made each of them take a Covenant for the amount spent. He was a fastidious man, fussing over every detail.
The Wizard had complained that if he took any more Covenants he would have less cash when he came out than when he went in to the gate. But moaning appeared to be his thing so she just let him get on with it.
When Andreton woke Donalt had explained the situation and he had just shrugged. Daisy was convinced that cash was essentially a mystery to the warrior. Something he was at best
aware of. He didn’t need clothes and hunted his own food. He obtained anything else he wanted through barter. He was a capitalist’s worst nightmare.
The Rogue appeared embarrassed at having no money though. He was uncomfortable around her, she could see that. She thought he might be uncomfortable around all women. He liked them, that was certain, his eye fell on her and Felicity occasionally, with an appreciation that went beyond just their skills. As she had noticed this, she was sure that the sorceress had caught it too. But he kept his fancy to himself. He was, by and large, polite and didn’t treat them as anything other than equals. That couldn’t be said for Corbett.
She thought there was a good chance that Moaning Corbett, as she had come to think of him, didn’t like anyone. He was the very definition of a misanthrope and one who had absolutely no issue with name calling either. What had he called her? ‘Tits MaGee? ‘What an absolute arsehole.’
She saw that Valeran had made use of Andreton’s sleeping time to offer prayers to his Gods. He knelt in front a tree mumbling and whispering and occasionally shaking his fist at the sky as he went through a litany of begging, cajoling and flattering a large number of deities he clearly thought might be useful on their trek to the gate.
Felicity knew full well that the old man really was central to the success of all of this. Perhaps the Clerics and other healers were right to be picky about who they joined forces with. It was also apparent that in this instance that Valeran hadn’t really had much of choice and with this thought she observed Felicity, the Mystic, who was really a Sorceress.
According to Dorian she was the daughter of a Warlord and he had rescued her. Had he though? Daisy was sure could almost smell the duplicity of the girl. She was a smart one. A good actor too. But she knew her stuff. Would she have needed rescuing? Sorcerers were very capable at looking after themselves.
‘She’s very flexible in her attitude.’ Daisy thought. ‘But very determined in her goal. She wants this quest, this group, far more than anyone else in it.’
The Sorceress had walked them away from the village to perform the spell. Daisy estimated they had travelled over sixty miles during the transference, and further to that the circle they appeared at was located literally at the base of the mountains. Felicity had saved them a few days of solid travel and this had earned her some much-needed popularity points with the party.
Looking up at the steep incline of the boulder strewn path ahead, leading into the mountains, it was clear that those who had been this way before were correct. There was no chance a horse could make the trek without a high probability of injury.
***
‘We were robbed back there.’ Corbett complained as the party trudged in a line along the harsh ground. ‘Absolutely robbed.’
‘What are you dribbling on about wizard?’ Donalt said. He had heard Corbett muttering for most of the journey but now the magic-user had decided to address him directly.
‘At the village. For these supplies. That girl must have more money than brains.’
‘Or she just has a lot of money and is happy to be generous to people who live on the edge of nowhere.’
‘Pah.’ Corbett shook his head. ‘They live on the edge of nowhere because they know they can charge exorbitant prices for the bare essentials. They should wear masks. Bloody thieves.’ He paused for a moment and then added. ‘No offence.’
‘Why would I take offence? I’m not a thief.’ Donalt replied darkly.
‘Right.’ Corbett replied. ‘It’s just wealth distribution with you lot isn’t it.’
‘Would you like me to redistribute your lungs?’ Donalt said, as though asking Corbett if he would like his slippers handing to him.
Corbett sniffed and turned, ignoring the Rogue.
‘Vat the skinny vizard say?’ Andreton asked, striding along behind Donalt. He was bored and Donalt wasn’t talking to him.
Francis was following behind, obediently keeping up, only pausing occasionally to lick at any moss coating the damp boulders which made Donalt snigger a little, but there was very little else to keep him amused.
‘Nothing.’ Donalt replied. ‘All he says is nothing.’
This puzzled Andreton. He tried to get his head around the idea of someone constantly saying nothing but could only imagine them simply being quiet. To prevent a headache, he did as he usually did when something confused him and forgot about it. It was much more satisfying to take in the beauty of nature around him.
&n
bsp; The rugged landscape reminded him of the mountains on the edge of the Steppe-lands of Voridia. But there was far more life there. Voridia teemed with creatures in almost every part of it, no matter how hot or cold or wet, and extremes of each could be found in its vast region. Here saw only the occasional buzzard, voles and other small things that darted between rocks, trying to avoid the buzzards. But that was all. He hoped something might happen soon.
And in fact, it happened soon.
Shortly after the best three pairs of eyes in the party left to scout the way ahead. Dorian and Donalt had gone. The most agile and capable at hiding in plain sight. The Ranger said they would return after two nights. His dog thing hadn’t gone with him, but the hawk followed, flying high above them. Daisy had watched them both move at speed over the rocks, away into the distance.
She liked Dorian. He seemed plain, and honest, if perhaps a bit too trusting of damsels in distress. He also looked quite good in leather. And her thoughts may have been a little too preoccupied with matters of warm skin and indelicate fumbling when they should have been on what dangers were immediately to hand.
Things that hunt alone, at least those without the benefit of flight tend to avoid groups of almost anything. It’s difficult to focus on your prey and at the same time watch your flank, or
your rear. That is unless you have eyes at your side, and rear. Oculus Trolls have such vision.
They stand at or around twenty-five feet in height when fully grown, reaching that impressive height in around seven years. Their natural skin colour is almost white and when at rest in the dark they have a faint glow about them. In the wild and when their blood is up their ability to become camouflaged with their surroundings is incredible. Among the rocky terrain of the mountains their skin changes its hue to a dull grey with patches of green and dark lines creep through, giving the illusion of fragmentation. It is said that you are more likely to trip over an Oculus Troll than you are to detect it in your path.
Fortunately, while Daisy’s thoughts were occupied, her senses were still moderately alert to such dangers. Had the party passed by the troll completely, its chosen method of ambush is to wait until at least half of the group has passed it by before it strikes, things might have gone very badly immediately. Instead that took a bit longer.
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