I am doing an exploratory flight. The weather has improved unexpectedly. We cannot waste that, as much as I think that we need to make plans about our long time path. Seconds into the flight I have started regretting this endeavor. This winter is cold so far into the mountains. Marental’s garments, his platemail suit and his magic sword, which I have only very basic ideas on how to use and none on how to use the magic on it, are not up to the challenge. His boots, which was I shocked to find perfectly fitting me, are, though. I need something to cover my head and hands. Yes, I can heat the air around myself. However, flying means movement. Movement means wind. The wind keeps blowing away my shell of warm air. Yes, I can keep a grasp on the air. That, however, means that I need to adjust the flight spell itself. My mana budget is horrible. This flight will end in minutes if I don’t do anything. I start drinking neutrinos. Better. But much more than leisurely flying in a line would take more concentration than I have, though I have about half an hour before I have to head home.

I spot a trail as the wind has blown away the snow. I feel a certain satisfaction for the choice of the site for that. At least I know the reason for the wierd feeling this time. This calls for a close inspection. I land. At this rate I am even recharging. Is this really the trail? Yes, it is. It leads down into a crevice and vanishes. Again I know that this site is suitable for a spell, but not which spell and for what reason. What now? I still have a period of good weather left. These mountains undergo precipitation. I am not at the bottom of lake. The water has to go somewhere. I need to find a river. I am going straight up. That is a drain on the budget, but I feel snow on the clouds coming in. I enter a slow circle.

Unfortunately, if there is a creek, it is frozen and under snow. I see nothing. I need to activate my full vision powers. That works. I take a nice wide turn, as I see a flash in an eldritch hue followed by something trailing smoke. It hurts my eyes. Fear! I need to evade that. I lose control. I start tumbling through the air, the cold wind hitting me like a fist.

The curse goes wide, being aimed at the point I would be had I continued my turn. There is another curse coming. I am out of control. I need to stop tumbling. I project an air brake. I almost brake my neck. Again the curse is aimed to intercept me. I am being hunted like an animal without cover. Sooner or later I will fail to dodge a shot. I need to do something drastic. I accelerate straight down. The next curse is being fired. He will get me when I need to slow down or I'll ram myself into the ground. I correct my vector going to the side. I go over the side of a cliff. Pure luck saves my ass. His curses travel in straight lines. I get outside his field of fire. I brake and save myself to a small ledge of rock. My face hurts from the cold. I flood it with healing. Can he get into a position to hit me again? Should I jump? I probably should. But flinging myself into the abyss is one step too far. I hesitate.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I lighten myself radically and rapidly scale upwards. Can I return fire? Just sticking my head up is not going to work. How far do my thunderbolts carry? Alternatively, can I defend myself? These musings turn moot, as a ball of lightning appears over me and veers towards me. I create an image of myself and send it straight out away from me. The lightning ball goes for the decoy. Its structure is clear. I need to do something. I radically simplify its design and couple it with a disspell. I pump it full of mana. My decoy is eliminated. It is coming straight for me. Not good if it hits, but it simplifies my aiming. I hit.

I need to capitalize on that. I send a decoy straight up. Counting to ten I piss myself before I follow it. The decoy dies on the second curse hitting it. I reach the snow at the edge of the cliff. I get a lucky break. He has not seen me. Neither will he, for now, I think. I am in the snow. My special sight goes through the snow, not perfectly, he is a blob coming closer. How good are his senses?

He stops. I burst out of the snow accelerating upwards and forwards in equal measure and send a decoy accelerating almost straight towards him. He goes for the decoy. I release the thunder.

My enemy separates in two. It turns out that he has been a huge grey, naked humanoid about three meters tall carrying a small green wrinkled man with sparse hair. I wish I could make sure they are no longer a danger, but I am almost out of mana. I have an idea. The snow cushions my hard landing, still my ankle will hurt until I can find mana for the healing. I create a mirror. The humanoid, which I tentatively identify as a troll, charges his new foe and propels himself into the abyss.

I walk towards the small green man, which I am suddenly sure is a goblin. My ankle is sprained. I still am covered with the blood I released because I bit my lip while breaking savagely. The boots are fine, though. My toes are perfectly warm. The wet patch in the front of my pants is getting cold. He is still alive. He looks stunned. My memories tell me that I cannot let him perish. I feel my bowels loosen.

No, not again! I draw my, well Marental’s, sword, reverse the grip and plunge it down. I can almost hear my grandfather say that you cannot let enemy scouts return. A warm feeling rises through my arms as a a denser form of mana is extracted from the goblin. It turns out that I don’t need to know how to use the magic of the weapon, at least for this functionality.

I fly down over the cliff and burn the troll’s body.