As Liam’s body grew, so did his –already substantial– pool of mana. Now the caravan of paladins moved no slower than if they’d marched nonstop. Like an enormous wooden slug they slimed a sandstone road at record pace. Effectively gliding across the hinterlands as sandstone filled potholes or wheel ruts. They rotated the lead wagon every hour switching between three squads of earth magi. Though Liam was required to switch wagons each time to keep the transfer of mana going. Level up alerts filled each of the paladin’s minds, followed shortly by them loudly praising Taloc or Liam or both. A sort of prophet worship that made Liam deeply uncomfortable, but he couldn’t find any reason to stop them. So he tried to ignore it by keeping focused on the transfer of mana. The battlemages looked on enviously, growing weary of being used as mana-titties for the earth magi to suckle on. Velena was the worst. As a level ten fire mage she knew this leveling method only devalued her own skills, diluting the rarity of level ten mages. Though she was a battlemage, one who possessed the talent to cast without chanting, so she would never truly be replaced.
Tightly packed sand became rocky outcroppings, which in turn became brown dirt. Plants began to sprout over each hill, marking the edge of Kheresh. It brought a smile to Liam’s face.
Goodbye Kheresh, I won’t miss the hell you put me through. He thought, leaving the endless expanse of sand behind.
Alongside the sands, the paladins left their weakness behind, growing in strength and requiring a little less mana each day. Until Liam could withhold his own mana without slowing the journey. As the days passed he once again turned the power inward, using it to shape his bones and body, and growing at a tremendous rate. He knew the paladins found it disconcerting, and some whispered of discontent, of how unnatural it was for a toddler to stand tall and look them in the eyes; as if on equal footing. Yet more whispered of Lightning Lords. How Taloc’s champions weren’t mortal men. How they must rise to the task allotted to them, and how Tufan’s mother had been slain, forcing him to rise and take care of himself.
Owen silenced the rumors when he heard them, but it was a lesson in fruitless harvests, for Liam’s elven ears heard all. From chittering birds, to griping paladins, to the camel farts. Creatures they’d have to exchange at the nearest town, else the camels would slow their march to Greenwood, and Liam was fed up with delays. So long as they marched he would let the paladins gossip.
His eyes were sharper, as was his sense of smell, and he often tried to isolate individual scents. Tragically, the various scents were generally linked to different body odors.
Another day drew to a close, with the paladins moving off the road to circle the wagons and set a watch. Velena used her fire affinity to heat food without an open flame, keeping a low profile. There was no reason to tempt fate by signaling to bandits or portal beasts, and another night passed uneventfully.
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Just like so many already had.
The next morning one of shimmering heat, the air vibrating with the intensity of the sun's rays. Broad footed camels with heavy-lidded eyes, plodded along the sand-stony trail. Laden with goods, they moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, their grunts blending with the shuffle of wagons across stone. Without retaining walls on either side, wind blew fine dust across the newly laid stones. As if the desert djinn were attempting to send the desert with Liam. While the travelers themselves were silent, conserving their strength for the impending combat, never knowing when otherworldly creatures would begin to appear, or if any would dare attack a convoy of magi. Their loose garments shielded them from the sun, like ethereal figures moving through a world of heat and light.
As the day wore on, the terrain began to shift subtly. Where once there had been dunes, there were now gentle hills. Juniper trees –nothing more than dehydrated bushes– filled the land and distant trees –real trees– became visible, marking places where water could be obtained. Liam directed the paladins near the oasis, but ordered them past it without stopping. Their water came from squeezing magi, so stopping here would only slow the march. The diversion was only to support those travelers who would follow after him, they that lacked magic.
He repeated the mana transfers with the water magi, coaxing the weakest to water the entire caravan –spitting camels included– as he filled them with mana from the others. It would take weeks, maybe even months, but all paladins in the vanguard would reach the pinnacle level before they reached Greenwood. Except for Faelan, the second burning battlemage whose flames went unneeded. Sure there was an occasional antlion, or another unintelligent beast. A few giant cobras whom cursed at Quetz, only to be slain so Faelan could level, and then devoured by Quetzalcoatl. But for a battlemage, these feats were parlor tricks. Not spells that would tax the second highest ranked fire magi in Kheresh. They needed enemies to fight.
Liam paid them no mind, knowing they would soon have their fill of battle.
By the third day, they caught sight of feral goats—wild and scrappy creatures that roamed the rocky terrain in search of food. Birds appeared, small, quick things that darted through the air, their wings a blur of movement too flighty for the humans to catch more than a glimpse. The travelers watched these signs of life with interest, listening to the birdsongs as the battle mages kept watch for predators. Yet the land was still too dismal for Pandora to inflict her plague upon it. The wind, which had been a constant companion in the desert, now blew cooler, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
Sturdy camels began to show their deficits, falling behind the horses on a smooth stone road. Their steps were slower, their grunts more frequent, yet they were driven onward.
Nearly three weeks –or was it four?-- after leaving Kheresh, they came upon their first planned stop of the journey, and found it burnt to ruins.