Ganthe toiled.

Whether it was because the fae had enspelled him, or he was just too tired, Ganthe remembered little after the flames erupted. What he did remember came back to him in snatches, like half-remembered dreams.

They marched even harder than when his company had raced to free Attenbach. Yet nobody had to be crucified to set an example.

Behind them the heath continued to burn, outshining the light from the fae. Ganthe was no longer sure they still chased after them, or whether they had become consumed by the flames. He dared not look. Ifonsa had been adamant that they not so much as glance at them.

Eventually the bog gave way to heath, as the land began to rise. The spines of the low shrubs snared Ganthe’s clothing as he hurried past.

He wondered why they didn’t just camp where they were. It was dry, and they could probably clear away a large enough area for enough of them to sleep. They’d have no shelter if it rained, nor any capacity to build one. They had passed no trees or anything plant taller than his hip. Nor did they have enough beds, but he could sleep on the dirt. He’d done that before many times, both during The War and since. Perhaps Ifonsa was afraid that the fae would catch them.

Up they climbed, into the hills, they had seen from their campsite before the sun fell below the horizon. It was bare stone in places, and covered with keenly sharp shrubs in others.

About half-way up the slope, Ganthe risked a look back. There was no sign of the fae. They had escaped that menace at least, or so he hoped. However, the fire still raged. In fact, Ganthe thought it had spread. It appeared to be much larger than when it had first blazed, perhaps doubling or tripling during their journey between leaving the swamp and climbing the hills.

Falduin had caused it, and the freezing of the mound creature, Ganthe knew. He wondered why he waited until now to use such potent magic. They would have proven useful against the goblins, or even the bandits.

It was only once they rested on a grassy space atop the hill, that he heard Lera and Falduin discussing it.

“That’s why spells are so long and detailed,” Falduin explained. “You need to consider all the conditions and ways the magic could go wrong and articulate the limits.”

“How long will it burn?” Lera asked, as she glanced down at the conflagration. She was busy tending to Tegalie’s bruised cheek.

“I don’t know. Perhaps just until I sleep. Maybe forever.”

“Forever? It will consume the world. Can you stop it?”

“Not without being closer, Much closer. I’d have to climb back down, almost right up to it.”

“Why not, freeze-freeze?” Fahesha asked. She always hovered near Tegalie, ready to help her.

“I’d still need to be closer.”

“You’d never get close,” Ifonsa said, pausing her patrol of the summit. “Every creature near those flames will be fleeing . They’re likely to attack anything that gets in their way. Plus the fae will be lurking. We only just escaped them.”

“We should still try to put the fire out,” Lera said.

“We have a choice. Put the fire out or escape. We can’t do both. I wouldn’t be surprised if the goblins have caught sight of the blaze, even if it’s just a glow on the horizon.”

“Can we outpace them on foot?” Tegalie asked.

“We have to,” Ifonsa said bluntly. “What I would like to know is why you have waited until now to show this level of power, Falduin.”

They all turned to the wizard. Even Heric who was keeping watch a short distance away.

Falduin considered his response carefully. “I did not know how,” he said simply. “It wasn’t until Lera healed me, and the manner in which she did it, that I even suspected that such a thing was possible. My masters clearly lied to me, about a great many things. Yet I have not exactly had the time or place to experiment. However when the tentacles erupted from the ground, the time for caution had passed. None of the spells I know would have sufficed, I chose to follow the path of the renegade wizard and make it up.”

“Why choose ice?” Lera asked.

“I knew the word,” Falduin explained. “When we are first taught wizardry we use another language. It is very old, ancient, but it is only used to establish a simple bridge between the Essence and the caster. Like kindling when starting a fire. Once the bridge has been formed, the native language (or any language for that matter) can be used. Yet I have been wondering. Normally that ancient language is only used to create simple cosmetic effects. I still use some of it for defining my light spell. Yet I only remember a few word and phrases. Huyxar means to freeze, or-“

Ganthe leapt up abruptly, “Don’t say it now! You’ll freeze us all!”

They all laughed at Ganthe.

“Sit down, “ Falduin said. “You’re safe. I would need to be connected to The Essence, and actively casting for the spell to work. Plus I’d also need the correct pronunciation.”

Ganthe sat down again.

“You know the word for fire,” Lera said. “Why not use fire against the creature?” Ganthe thought the answer seemed important to her.

“No. I only half-remembered the word,” Falduin said. “That’s why I chose cold over fire.”

“It’s well that you did.” Ifonsa said.

“Yes. We would all be dead had I been less cautious. Yet with the fae drawing closer it mattered little. We needed a distraction, and a fire (any fire) would do.”

“Are you going to be able to repeat it against the goblins when they find us?”

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“Yes,” Falduin said. “Plus any other effects I can recall. Maybe sorcery too if I can work out how. Evocations are almost impossible.”

“Wasn’t that what did with the fire?” Lera asked.

“No. I merely rotated the element wheel. Same with the freezing. Evocations are on an entirely new level. Many levels.”

“What’s the difference?”

“With evocations you don’t change one thing and make it into another. You start with nothing and build it from scratch.”

“Like The Gods?”

Falduin nodded. “Close. There is a saying amongst wizards. Never mess with an evoker.”

Lera grinned, “I’m guessing that the saying is usually expressed less delicately.”

Falduin smirked, but remained silent.

They did not rest long before they were up and readying to move again. Ifonsa insisted that they needed to make as much progress as possible before dawn, and even afterwards through the day, and into the following night. She told them they could not expect to reach Frileah before the day after that, if they reached it at all. She said that she fully expected the goblins to overtake them long before.

“How do we even know the goblins are still chasing us?” Tegalie protested.

“It’s what I would do.”

“You’re a warden. That’s what you do.”

“Because that is how they are, and we had to become like them,” Ifonsa said, her gaze falling upon Fahesha. “They can run longer, carry more. They do not give up, because failure always means death. A quick one if they are lucky.” She turned to regard Tegalie. “I don’t hunt them just out of revenge. I fear them. They are merciless, it is conditioned into them. Every warrior you have ever seen, every commander, every runt, only lives because they have survived the tortures needed just to be allowed to carry a weapon and wear armour. As long as they know where we are, they will follow until either they or us are slain, or we find refuge.”

“How did we defeat them?” Tegalie asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We won the war. If they are so much better than us, how did we win?”

“Through bravery and valour and through the valiant sacrifice of a few so that the many may liv-“ Ifonsa began.

“The goblins are tribal,” Heric interjected.

Ifonsa gave him a disapproving look.

Heric quickly explained,“They fought amongst themselves as much as they did us, trying to carve out territory that wasn’t there’s, before another tribe could claim it.”

“So we can play them off against another tribe?” Tegalie asked. “Get them fighting one another instead of hunting us?”

Heric shook his head, peering thoughtfully. “No. I don’t believe so. This is something new.” He turned to Ifonsa, “Do they feel like they’re all one tribe to you? Or many?”

Before Ifonsa could answer, Fahesha spat, “Not one. Not many. No tribe. All outcasts. Like a fahesha.”

They fell silent. Only the wind, which was picking up, uttered a low moan.

“Then kill me,” Tegalie insisted. “They will no longer track you without me leading them to you.”

“I too act as a lodestone for them,” Lera said. “I do not wish to die until there is no other hope.”

“Nobody is killing anyone ,” Heric said. “At least not until the goblins arrive, then my sword has a few debts it wishes to pay back. Now, move. Each step is another closer to safety.”

Ifonsa led them across the hills. She told them they were heading to the south-west, towards the coast, but Ganthe couldn’t tell. If not for the fire that gradually receded behind them, Ifonsa could have been leading them in a circle for all Ganthe knew. The moorland all looked the same, especially at night.

Sometimes the moonlight made the rocks look different (more jagged here, smoother there), and the plants changed every now again. Some even had small white flowers amongst the leaves. However, for the most part they journeyed in a melange of grey and greyer shadows, as they strove to overcome the weariness that dogged them.

Then the light of the fire fell from view completely, and later still, the moon sank. Deep shadows consumed their world, causing their spirits to falter. Yet still they continued.

They were strung out in a line, in their usual order, across a hundred or so paces. Yet even from his place at the back he noticed that Ifonsa flagged. She hesitated more than usual, and once she led them down a gully that had no other exit beyond the way they had entered, and so they were forced to backtrack. That wasn’t normal for her.

Ganthe pushed forward, passing the others and falling in step beside the Royal Warden.

“I have not come this way before,” she told him before he said a word.

“And at the mound?” Ganthe asked.

Ifonsa turned to him, “What about mound?” she hissed.

“You froze.”

She turned away, and didn’t say anything for a time, as they continued down the rocky slope.

“I was terrified,” she whispered.

Ganthe thought for a moment, then said, “During the war, I heard this story about a soldier. His company had been wiped out. He had escaped-“

“Is this about Rauhoffen?” Ifonsa interrupted.

“No,” Ganthe said, then continued. “He had escaped, but the goblins were after him, so he headed up into the hills-“

“Which hills?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not these hills is it?”

“No. He headed up into the hills to escape.”

“Are you certain it’s not these hills, because it sounds like us.”

“Definitely not. It’s raining in this story. Do you see rain here?”

“Not yet”

“It’s pouring with rain, He comes to a cliff, and he slips, and almost falls off, to a certain death. But at the last moment he manages to grasp a branch and hold on. He looks down, and all he can see is clouds below him. His hands are slipping, and the branch is threatening to break. ‘Help!’ He yells. ‘Is anyone there?’. A great voice booms from all around him and-”

“It’s not a goblin is it? I’ve seen them do that before.”

“’I am Cóufæn’, the voice says. ‘The Goddess of the Air and Winds. Let go of the branch and I will catch you.”

“That definitely sounds like a goblin.”

“There’s a long silence, and then the soldier says, ‘Is there anyone else?’” Ganthe said, then grinned at Ifonsa.

“And?” she prompted.

Ganthe paused. “It was a goblin,” he said finally. “And the soldier died horribly, then he was eaten.”

The two of them travelled in silence for a time, then Ganthe dropped back.

“Thank you,” Ifonsa said, “I liked your story.”