Silence followed in the wake of the beast's scream. The rustling of the underbrush had ceased. Any critter having already fled the area, or found a new hiding hole.
The caravan had also paused, the rooks going still. Even the humans had picked up on the atmosphere, and stayed quiet. Tension grew and grew, hanging thick in the air.
Necun counted in her head. The pod ahead of them would know the location of the beast, they would have eyes on it in a matter of heartbeats. What they saw would determine the next move. Would they all fight the beast, or flee back up the mountain until it passed?
If they were fighting the sound of combat would carry. The leading pod would engage swiftly. Thirty heartbeats away at most. Whereas if they were retreating it would take far longer for a runner to inform the caravan.
The moment stretched.
Around Necun Hunters tensed, shifting with anticipation.
A second scream ripped through the air. It was joined by battlecrys and the wash of auras just at the edge of sense. Necun released a breath. They could handle it.
She turned in time to notice Bycia's hand sign, repeating it reflexively.
Hold.
Some of the younger Hunters had wanted to join their companions. That, or Bycia was being cautious. Either way Necun understood. It wasn't their place. To leave the caravan less defended now would be foolish on top of vain. There would be plenty of glorious hunts to be had on this trip regardless.
Even if waiting at the edge of combat, listening to their peers fight, was agony.
As the moment crept on the noise continued. The thrashing and crashing of the underbrush mixing with screams and wails. Auras hanging thick, sloshing over the forest in waves as Hunters burned hot in combat. Steadily however, the sound grew distant, fading into the Green.
Another hand sign from Bycia.
Long bleed.
Keep carts moving.
They'll be a while then. Necun thought, steadying her breathing as she imitated the signals. A beast that required a long bleed this soon on the path? It must have picked up our trail when we were headed to the human lands. Or perhaps it ate the beast that did. Hopefully it cleared out anything else nasty, but if it's part of a nest this could get bloody. Assuming it hasn't drawn first blood already.
Necun knew perfectly well how fragile a Hunter could be, despite the bravado of her seniors.
The first of the carts had pierced the gloom of the forest. Burly women clearing out roots with hooked tools to make way for the wheels.
Even then it was rough on the wooden contraptions. They strained and rattled with every turn of the reinforced axle. Only kept together by stellar craftsmanship and diligent maintenance.
The clatter set Necun's nerves on edge, but she knew it was necessary. Moving this amount of material would take a dozen separate trips on foot. One loud journey was worth the risk compared to an endless silent line of walking traders.
On the positive side the front few carts always had the worst of it, each laden set of wheels that followed found a smoother path to coast across. Within days the path would be overrun once again. Even here, at the edge of the barren mountain, the Green abhorred a vacuum.
From her perch Necun watched the caravan grow closer. They would move before she could catch a glimpse of Nickolas, yet she stared anyway. As if he would disappear the moment she let him out of her sight.
The Hunters around her shifted. Necun caught a hand sign from the woman to her right.
Follow.
She unhooked herself, dropping to a thin branch below to kick off. They were moving again. Being the slowest to respond put her at the back of the pack for this run, which gave her time to think. The lead pod had been pulled out of position by the beast, and there was no telling how long they would lead the bleeding hunt. Assuming the beast could be killed it would be a long time, perhaps days before the pod returned. If it couldn't be brought down they would be stuck chasing it far enough that they could ensure it wouldn't return to the slow moving caravan.
That shifted their priorities. Either they could take the pods place, and in the process leave the caravan far more vulnerable, or move forward blindly, without the advanced scouting element to warn them. Both terrible options. Worse, there was no clever solution available. They couldn't simply break the pod in two, it would be disastrous for coordination, and if they ran into another great beast they would need the full pod to fight. Retreat wasn't an option after all.
Their formation came to a stop at another perch, signifying that Bycia had chosen to continue shadowing the caravan. It was the conservative choice, but would allow them more flexibility. Relying on the caravan guards if things became desperate.
Or escape with as many people as possible if the worst comes to pass. Necun thought darkly. Losing our pride, and a pile of goods is better than allowing that many deaths.
Nickolas possibly being among those deaths tipped the scales off the table entirely for Necun. I also reminded her why she was so grateful she wouldn't have to make command decisions during the trip.
The Hunters settled into their new perch. The shift in the mood was obvious. Searching eyes roamed the underbrush in search of the smallest hint of a threat. Every minute noise made four or more heads swivel to watch. It was so quiet Necun could hear the tiny hiss of air from her nostrils. Only the trees still dared to make a sound. The calm swishing of branches, and rustling of leaves fading into the background. The familiar feeling settled Necun's heart slightly. The silence settled over her like a blanket.
Again the rattling of the carts, and hacking of hand tools on wood broke through the temporary calm. Again the caravan rumbled by without issue. Again the Hunters of Bycia's pod relocated.
They fell into the pattern. It was easier than worrying about the days to come.
----------------------------------
The moment the Caravan Master called for a rest Nickolas slumped against a root and gulped down half his waterskin.
He could feel the sweat running in rivers down his back. Soon a change of clothes would be necessary. Otherwise his robes would start to chafe. In truth it was not all that warm, nor was the exercise beyond what he could handle, though the terrain proved a challenge. He simply wasn't used to this level of sustained exercise.
The Mage glanced around at his surroundings while he caught his breath. All around the roots grew in strange patterns across the forest floor. Most were as thick as his thigh and twisted up with themselves seeking untapped soil. Yet despite their presence lesser plants flourished.
Undergrowth the orcs referred to it. It shot out of random patches of soil, in the few places sunlight shone through from above. Bushes and ferns, and stalks he couldn't identify grew together like overgrown gardens. The patches were easier to clear than the dense roots, which could sometimes form large knots that would stop their caravan in it's tracks. So with scythe wielding workers at the head the line of carts was taking a winding path though the densest cluster of greenery.
For man used to rocky mountain slopes the abundance of tripping hazards grated the nerves.
Yet even this wasn't the greatest contributor to Nickolas's strain.
That was the air which was so humid it felt as if he was walking through soup.
How can there be this much water in the air without it raining? he wondered.
The Mage concentrated above his palm. Soon a jagged circle glowed, dripping with moisture as it collected water from the air. After a sizable droplet had formed he released his control and let the droplet splash to the forest floor to be greedily drunk by the dark soil, and later the surrounding trees.
“Seems a bit of a waste.” a voice to his right cut in.
Nickolas turned to see Marious hopping out of the cart. The Medicine Man indulged in a yawn before taking a swig out of a small bottle.
“Easier to purify.” Nickolas responded. “You know that.”
All across the strung out line of the caravan orcs had taken axes to specific roots, or great trunks. A small group of orcish Mages were walking between each spot. The men would approach the wound in the great tree, and attach spigots which stank of magic. Soon after fresh water would flow from the artifacts into prepared buckets to water for the caravan to use.
I wonder how they maintain the enchantment? he thought. Water should be diluting the magic every time it's used. Unless they found an insulator? But then how would it reach into the tree to pull out the water?
“I was working on a potion for that actually.” Marious said, scratching his jaw. “Not for water conjuring specifically, but any constant flowing spell. Should have increased magic conductivity. Increased the flow rate. Similar to ritual potions.”
“I note the 'should have' in the middle of that explanation Mari.” Nickolas pointed out.
“It made me pass out for a day and a half.” Marious admitted without a hint of shame. “Father said my magic was drained the entire time, so I was halfway there. I either got the mixture wrong or I don't fully understand the interactions needed for the full effect.”
“When was this?” Nickolas asked.
“When you were off looking for a bride in the heartlands.” Marious said. “I needed something to occupy my time. Usually I spent the free time mending some horrible new wound you managed to inflict on yourself throwing lightning.”
“As if you didn't enjoy practicing your new salves.” the golden haired Mage retorted. “Every time Molly dragged me in you got that glimmer in your eye.”
“Didn't say it was boring.” the healer admitted. “I just needed another project to fill the hole in my schedule.”
Nickolas glanced around at the bustling caravan, then the towering tree they rested below.
“I suppose the trip will keep you busy for a while.” he said. “I'm going to have to ride the next stretch out on the cart. So you can have fun slogging through this peat.”
“Very well.” Marious replied. “The bean sack is the softest. Mind your head.”
Nickolas grunted his understanding and took another swig of water before climbing up the cart. The goods inside were well secured, but there it was easy enough to start clamoring up.
“What was that scream earlier?” his friend asked as he was halfway up.
“The beast scream?” Nickolas replied. “Something the Hunters ran into ahead of us. They're driving it off now. Apparently it was a big deal that it made so much noise. It means it was confident. Or angry. Or tough? Not sure about the specifics. I'll ask Necun when we make camp. All it means is that we have to be quieter than the rooks for a few days so nothing else starts sniffing around.”
“I'll get my war kit ready in case something gets close anyway.” Marious said, humming.
“Your war kit is three healing vials, and a pile of failed hair growth potions.” Nickolas said, hiding his smile.
“Technically successful.” Marious replied. “Hair growth is part of the reaction.”
“That poor ground slink.” Nickolas said with an exaggerated shudder.
I know they're pests. he thought. It was doomed to die the moment it broke into the pens. Still. Choking on your own fur as it consumes you can't be the way anything wants to go. If Marious reaches into that bag I'll just have to fry the beast he's aiming for first. To spare my own eyes if nothing else.
Reaching the top of the sacks Nickolas found a decent nook to wedge himself into. Marious had been right, the beans, while lumpy, were the most comfortable seat he could find. Nickolas sighed as he settled in, resting the cool water skin on his chest and closing his eyes for a moment.
A piercing beastial scream sent his forehead into the timber above. His ears rang as he barely kept himself from tumbling off the pile of goods.
The cart jolted. Nickolas held on as it rolled forward several strides before stopping suddenly again. Another scream followed, and this time the camp erupted into noise.
Dropping the water skin he had clutched to him with a death grip the golden haired Mage scrambled down the bags before jumping off the cart. The surroundings were in chaos. Caravan hands took hold of rooks, trying to keep them from fleeing. Some had already failed, the pack animals trying to rush away from the dreadful scream only to be caught on a root. Worse, some dragged their carts until the wheels wedged into something, wood splintering, and the animal panicked even more.
To his right several burly caravan hands were gathering. As one the women grunted, auras flaring to life. They were weak candles in the gloom, but Nickolas was comforted by the sight regardless.
“Nickolas!” Molly screamed to his left.
She was tugging on a shirt. A spear was clutched in her hand, and he saw the ridged concern in her eyes.
“They're gathering the men.” she shouted. “Follow me.”
He stood there a moment transfixed, not quite processing what the Knight was saying.
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Then Marious grabbed his arm.
“Nickolas we need to go. Now!” His friend said, quiet voice cutting through the blur of shouting.
Nodding Nickolas started jogging behind Molly. She looked smaller without her armor. He reflected on how long it had been since he had seen her without it.
Ahead of her he saw a cluster of movement. Wide eyed men surrounded by two protective rings. The inner ring was made up of the orc Mages he had seen earlier. The outer ring contained Yulai, the Caravan Master, who was now sporting a pair of pitch black shoulder pauldrons, and was hefting a sizable axe.
The Caravan Master was shouting commands, aura blazing as she tried to retain control of the situation.
Another scream came. Everyone flinched, orc or human. It was so clear. Unmuffled.
Nickolas turned with dawning horror.
It was a serpent. The beast's long sinuous body left little doubt of that. Beyond that it's body defied any classification beyond 'nightmare'. Along it's scaled body patches of mangy fur puffed out, seemingly at random. It's back was a host to a chorus of mismatched feathers which fluttered madly. At the front it sported a double set of jaws with fangs to match, one set inside the other below a cluster of shifting eyes. Every inch of it shone with a sickly sheen, reflecting what sunlight fell upon it, resulting in a dancing rainbow effect across it's length.
The creature had wrapped itself around a part of the tree trunk Nickolas's cart was beneath. It had no obvious perch aside from a few branches far too small to support it's girth. Instead the beasts flesh seemed to cling unnaturally to the towering plant's bark. What furry patches could reach stuck wherever they touched.
It's aura was a languid thing, slowly drifting off it's body in coiling wisps. The color was a dull green tinged with black, a deep contrast with the multi colored serpent.
Movement flicked in the branches above. The serpent turned it's double maw upwards as it's many eyes searched.
A wave of axes, darts, and hooks flew from multiple directions, seeking the beast's face or exposed side.
In a blink the creature's body flexed before launching itself off the tree towards another. With a body the size of a gatehouse it glided across the open space, slithering in the air as if it was upon the ground.
Molly grabbed Nickolas's arm hard enough to bruise, and he realized he was standing right underneath the beast's path.
He ran, shaking off the Knight's grip in his mad dash for the cluster of allies. There was a flash above him, he felt a dozen auras lighting up the gloom, and a fresh shriek from the beast. The ground felt too soft between his feet, and he almost lost his footing. Every breath came ragged. His vision narrowed to the group of huddled men, eyes wide as they watched the fight above.
Passing the ring of women felt like a weight taken off his neck. He half slid to a halt at the edge of the Mage's ring before walking inside. Marious was behind him, offering an awkward pat on the shoulder as he caught his breath.
A few glanced his way, but most gazes remained upwards. Nickolas soon joined the onlookers, tamping down the fear that had consumed him.
Foreknowledge of the beasts appearance made it no less uncanny. It was clinging now to a large jutting branch. It's jaw snapped at open air as it's head whipped about seemingly at random. The coils of it's body were tense, prepared for another leap.
The Hunters were disinclined to allow that.
Auras blazed bright in the air as the women leapt around the serpent. Stealth had been abandoned as they wove a confusing dance before the beast's eyes. The orcs remained just outside striking range for the creature, almost daring it to try to snap at the airborne Hunters.
It failed to notice the woman slowly crawling on the underside of the branch.
Nickolas's heart caught in his throat as he recognized Necun. Her wild red hair was swept back, and contained in a braid was the only thing that alerted him to her presence. The shadows melded with the black scales of her damaged armor. Sparse leafy shoots blended perfectly with her skin. Her movement, swift though it was, could barely be noticed against the flurry of leaps going on above.
From his vantage below Nickolas could see his wife clinging to the bark with the hook on her gloved hand, her boots pressing against bark to provide tension. Her aura was alive, though muted, disguised behind the curtain of the beast's own flowing energy.
Axe's began to twirl in the air again, but this time focused on the serpent's head. It whipped it's head back, fangs gnashing in frustration as it watched the soaring Hunters tighten their pattern.
A coil drifted further down, feeling for a more secure grip on the branch. It slowly drifted closer to Necun, who had stilled underneath the beast.
Nickolas held his breath as the beast's flesh seemed to crawl across the underside of the branch, gripping tightly to the wood as it approached the orc. The moment stretched. Necun reached for a long tool on her belt.
A few heartbeats later the undulating coil came within arms reach, and Necun didn't miss the opportunity. Her arm lashed out, driving the tool deep into the scales of the creature. The moment she made contact with the bark beneath the serpent's flesh Necun pulled the hook free. She was sent tumbling to the forest floor, aura blazing bright once again.
Nickolas released the breath he was holding even as the beast screamed, coils unfurling as it thrashed in pain and surprise.
The Hunters descended on the distracted beast as a pack. Leaping in twos and threes they smashed into unprotected flanks, or on the writhing back of the serpent. Axes rose and fell, biting into armored hide or sinking into patchy fur. Snapping and screaming the beast lashed out at the women, diving to bite a pair who were slicing into a section of fur in it's midsection. Both orcs jumped clear, one having to abandon her axe to the grasping fur as she fell to a lower branch. Bouncing off, the Hunter leapt away to avoid a potential follow up strike, leaping up to escape the beasts attack range.
Yet in driving off the pair the serpent left four other groups unchallenged. They took advantage of the opportunity putting muscle into their grisly work, blood spraying as they pulled their weapons free after each swing.
In a panic the creature tried to escape. Flexing it's muscular form it attempted to push itself from the branch only to find it's coil pinned by the magical spike Necun had impaled in it's bulk. The result was a pathetic half leap which turned into a flop, the confused beast's breath wheezed from it's over sized lungs as the pinned portion of flesh stretched around the spike. A third of the serpent's body was left hanging off the branch, dangling it the air, it's jaws snapping in frustration and terror.
With the danger minimized the Hunters gathered atop the branch and began the bleeding process. They hacked deliberately, avoiding the blind twitching of the coils as they sought larger blood vessels or vital organs. The titanic serpent seemed nearly pitiable as it screamed, dangling helpless as the Hunters took it apart. Even it's last rattling gasp, absent of strength, failed to stop the orcs' blood lust, the axes continuing to rise and fall long after the beast had stopped moving of it's own accord.
Finally the creature's aura winked out, signaling true death.
Around Nickolas the huddled group relaxed. Several of the men dropped to the ground, placing their head on their knees as they released shuddering breaths. Others shifted their focus to the other towering trees surrounding them. Their eyes searched for the next threat, once again aware of their vulnerable position, and reminded of just how large the Green had looked upon that slope earlier.
The caravan orcs, by contrast, released small chuckles, and began to thump each other on the shoulder while sending the occasional gesture up towards the Hunters above. With a quick nod of approval from the Caravan Master half of the women broke off to assist in calming wayward rooks, or gathering fallen cargo. Meanwhile the orcish Mages, who themselves had calmed, began to talk amongst themselves.
I never saw them at the feast. Nickolas realized, his brain still clouded with adrenaline. Where were they tucked away? I met with Sheku, so they weren't hiding all their men. Why just the trained Mages? If that's even what these men are.
They were dressed in fine cloth lined in dark fur, nowhere was the dark leather the women favored. Many had painted faces, heavier than the makeup favored in the human lands, though of remarkably similar style, with dark pools under the eyes, and decorated cheeks. Their tusks were clean and sharp, some even decorated or lightly carved, which lent a sharpness to their face. The clothes they wore were of varying styles, some were light robes, open at the front paired with heavy trousers, and light undershirts. Others wore single piece tunics which tied at the front with small pieces of string.
Every single one wore small seals, and charms. Some wove it into their clothing while others hung a dozen from a belt, or dangled it from a wrist. The ritual elements stank of magic, though Nickolas found he couldn't identify what spells might be contained. Even the runes he saw carved into the seals were unfamiliar.
While attempting to imprint one such pattern in his mind the seal's bearer turned to face him.
“We apologize for that.” the orc said in a quiet voice. “Few beasts of that size are capable of climbing. We usually have far more warning. You may rest assured, it's unlikely to happen again on this trip. Most problems will be handled out of sight.”
The man had a scar below his eye that caught the light oddly when he spoke. A different sort of paint was used for the raised flesh, indicating pride in the injury.
“Oh we have the utmost confidence in the Hunters' abilities.” Nickolas responded smoothly, his face slipping into a pleasant smile. “We are simply accustomed to walls between us and what our warriors are slaying that day.”
Nickolas cast his gaze up to the serpent which was now thoroughly dead, bleeding onto the greenery below.
“The demonstration of skill was something to behold.” he continued. “The stories fail to fully prepare someone for witnessing the feats of valor in person.”
The orc blinked at him for a moment, soon joined by his companion with feathers dotting his robe.
“What the rot is he on about?” the second orc asked the scarred one, voiced filled with amusement.
Nickolas had the privileged of watching the face of the scarred Mage twist up. He genuinely couldn't tell if the he was upset, or a moment away from laughing. In either case Nickolas had to dig his nails into his palm to keep his own face serene.
“Our guest War Mage was expressing his admiration for our Hunter's technique.” the first orc answered carefully. “Remember that they have never seen a hunt before. It's new to them.”
“Admiration? That was a shambles.” the feather bearing Mage responded, producing a piece of jerky from a hidden pouch before tossing it in his mouth. “A proper pod would have taken half the time. Rot. That waste of meat would never have gotten close to the carts if half the girls were paying attention instead of dreaming about their first nights. And the rotting noise they made!”
“I take it this isn't typical of your Hunters?” Nickolas asked, the corner of his lip twitching minutely. “It seemed well executed, but as you said I haven't seen how hunts are done.”
“It wasn't clumsy.” the scarred man was quick to interject. “The actual killing was done as smoothly as a training drill. It's simply that the pods are a touch distracted after the festivities last night.”
“They're hungover, horny, or hopping mad that they were too slow on the tithe.” the feathered man grumbled, tone mocking. “And because they're mostly a bunch of rotting new bloods they can't focus enough on their duties.”
“What he means is that they will be better tomorrow once emotions have settled.” the scarred orc said.
Nickolas digested the information.
The tithe drew too many young hot headed women. he concluded. They allowed too many on this trip, and now there aren't enough sensible seniors to keep things together.
“So you're saying there is nothing to worry about.” Nickolas said, sparing a glance to the side where Peter was picking himself up. “Even if beasts get a little closer than usual the Hunters can handle anything that comes. Not to mention your magical talents driving off anything too nasty.”
“Driving off?” the feathered Mage asked. “The girls could handle a critter sure, but why would we tangle with a beast like that?”
In response Nickolas held up his hand, sparking a flame above his palm.
“Why wouldn't we?” he asked.
“Ah human simplicity.” the scarred orc muttered.
“You want to hit a beast with a lantern lighter until it gives up?” the feathered orc asked flabbergasted. “Is that really how humans manage in those stone walls? Just blast it until it runs out of aura, and gives up? How do you even hit them?”
“Because they have to choose between the fire, or our spears.” Molly cut in, planting the butt of her spear in the dirt. “Neither option ends well for the invading pests.”
The orc's faces blanked as the Knight appeared, and they shared a knowing look.
“What do men usually do when they participate in a hunt?” Nickolas asked, hoping to keep the conversation going. “Or when they guard against beasts wandering into your territory?”
“Hit them where they're soft.” the feathered Mage said, almost like a mantra.
“The mind.” the scarred orc supplied. “Most of our offensive spell work involves addling the mind, or entire illusions. If we can confuse or disorient a creature it matters little how strong or fast they may be.”
“Works on annoying suitors too.” the feathered orc said with a smile. “Or new bloods who don't understand their duties. Older folks less so. They wise up after the first dozen times walking into a root.”
“If that serpent had tried to leap at us it would have found a rather large branch where there wasn't one before.” the scarred orc explained. “If it broke through that? It would be struck blind. Long enough to escape, or for the Hunters to finish it.”
“Or for you to blast it into charcoal I suppose.” the feathered Mage mused. “That might actually work. Want to try that on a critter when we make camp golden boy?”
With a sharp intake of breath the scarred orc turned to glare at his companion before flicking his gaze to Nickolas, and Molly.
“I apologize.” he said, voice low. “My friend meant no offense. He-”
“It's fine.” Nickolas interjected with a polite laugh. “I wondered what my nickname would be. Golden boy is hardly the worst. At least I won't be confused when someone calls out in a crowd.”
He flicked a lock of hair back for emphasis, smile widening.
The scarred orc relaxed while his companion snorted and nudged his friend with a foot.
“See?” the feathered orc chuckled. “He's not some delicate herb fussing over everything. His mother wouldn't send him in with us if she didn't think he could handle a little ribbing. Besides humans duel with words all the time. Right? Those fancy courts?”
“I spent some time in the heartlands.” Nickolas said. “Words could be as deadly as a blade, though in truth that was usually because they were followed by a duel. I was lucky to be protected by my outsider status. It allowed me to play ignorant, and escape the worst of the 'veiled dance' as they call it.”
“But before we move on.” Nickolas continued, cutting off the feathered orc's next comment. “You mentioned mind magic earlier. Is that what those delightful discs are for?”
“These?” the scarred orc said, raising his arm, sending the white charms clattering against one another. “In a way. They're protective charms. I burn them as needed for protection, or to fuel something else. It's mostly blank power with a few tinted for certain spells I specialize in.”
He rubbed a thumb over a larger disk, causing it to bleed magic for a few heartbeats. With a twist of his hand he produced a perfect image of an orc woman laughing. Her face paint was smudged, and her face was flushed. Every detail was lovingly reproduced.
Then the image cut out, the lines in the white circle losing their luster, and going dead.
“The seals on the other hand.” the orc continued, touching a carved piece of smooth bone shaped like a mask. “These contain full spells. We all carry some standard pieces every boy knows. Camouflage. Silence. And every Mage here has a special spell, or two they want on hand.”
Nickolas's mind was ablaze. Beyond the unfamiliar runes, the knowledge the orc Mages could stuff a spell into such a small artifact opened a door into expansive possibilities. Even if the tool only worked for the Mage himself, which he suspected, such small charms pre-prepared could enhance his combat casting far beyond other War Mages of his caliber.
Human Mages in any case. Here he would be playing catch up, perhaps for cycles. He might feel worse about that if he wasn't excited about cramming as much new magic into his mind as possible.
“How do you cast?” the feathered orc cut in. “We figured you used bigger metal charms, but none of the tithes gave us proper Mages before. All the one's we got could do is channel a bit through their arm like that candle trick you just pulled.”
“Well that's the primary basis of our casting yes.” Nickolas confirmed, flicking the fire above his hand back on. “As you said any Mage with a touch of talent can light a candle, or chill some wine. They just need to get the rune right.”
He tilted his hand, shifting the rune so it was easier to view in the low light. Symbols swirled past each other forming a nearly complete circle above his skin.
“Any given rune is made up of dozens of smaller pieces.” he explained. “But once you memorize it each rune can be used without understanding the underlying work. Most Mages pick up the common ones for daily use. Some learn an attack spell, or two if they have a need. Only a few have the time to dive into the components of the runes themselves.”
“You don't aspect the magic?” the scarred orc asked, surprised. “You just let it flow straight from your body into the symbol? Even with the larger spells?”
“Larger spells require more runes, or larger runes.” Nickolas supplied. “But yes it's the same basic principle. I thought you knew that? I know we sent no War Mages, but there must have been a few men who understood the basics of runework.”
“None.” the scarred Mage replied, shrugging. “Some can preform tricks, like that flame of yours, but nothing of the deeper lore. They don't even seem to understand the question, they just cast automatically. There have been rumors of some humans trying our ways, carving, and properly aspecting the magic. Nothing ever seemed to come of it. It's like they can't properly interact with the Flow.”
That's... impossible. Nickolas thought. Even in the smaller villages they would have prepared the tithed men with basic combat spells. Even if it's just tricks taught in a washer circle they would have had a basic grasp. Are they hiding it for some reason?
“Sounds like a mystery.” Nickolas said, smile growing. “I would be delighted to try myself. Perhaps we could work out the problem together. You teach me some basic illusions, and I'll share how to toss around fire.”
“Nickolas.” Molly cut in. “That can wait. You can dive into your...magic when we're done with this death march.”
“Speaking of which when can we get moving again?” she asked, turning to the Caravan Master. “Unless I'm very mistaken that corpse will attract scavengers soon.”
The Caravan Master dismissed the worker she was talking to with a wave before looking down at the Knight.
“We move when the rooks aren't running into roots.” she growled. “You want to speed us up? Grab a rope, and start hauling.”
“Sheku!” she called out, interrupting Molly's response. “Where's that rotting iron cart?”
“Wheels snapped!” her bond responded from the other side of a cluster of roots. “Short fix!”
The Caravan Master growled before stalking off, leaving behind the flustered Knight.
Nickolas patted Molly's shoulder.
“Well you heard the woman.” he said with genuine cheer. “I'll find some rope, you find a rook to wrestle.”
His friend responded with a glare that could sour wine.
Ignoring her attitude Nickolas gave the pair of Mages a small bow before walking towards a cart whose rook had broken free. The animal was grazing nearby, having quickly switched from full bore panic to lazy gluttony. Of more interest to Nickolas was the cart's position near the serpent's body.
Upon closer inspection the beast's blood, which was now flowing freely onto a thoroughly soaked root, was more purple than red. It shone in the sparse light, and Nickolas suspected Marious would be taking samples before they continued their journey.
Nickolas checked the cart itself, only to realize he had little idea how to determine if it was still usable. Contenting himself with confirming no part was obviously shattered he grabbed a coil of rope from the rear.
With the bare minimum of pretending as if he was helping complete Nickolas wandered even closer to the beast's corpse for a better look at it's head. As he was gazing up at the protruding eyeball clusters of the serpent, he heard a nearly inaudible thud behind him.
He whirled, nearly slipping on the loose ground in the process, and thrust out his hand to threaten the creature behind him.
Necun looked down at her bond without concealing her grin.
“Expecting something?” she purred, reaching forward to caress his cheek.
Nickolas shied away from the touch, releasing a small breath.
“I wanted to see your work up close.” he admitted. “Never been able to examine a fresh beast corpse before.”
“Good thing it's not a rot beast then.” Necun responded, hand dropping to her side. “We need to burn those fast. Sometimes before it's fully dead.”
“I've been meaning to ask about that.” he cut in. “The Caravan Master had an...interesting reaction when I used that word.”
“What word? Rot?” she replied, snorting. “Some of the old timers get bitter over it. That goes double if you're not another Hunter, or at least on the home front for a season or two. I suppose they would be triple bitter over a human from outside the Green. I wouldn't worry about it. Just old Hunters gnashing their tusks.”
“So I can use the word rot?” he asked. “Even if I'm not sure what it means?”
Necun blinked.
“You don't know what it-?” she began mouth agape.
A cry cut her off.
“SWAAAAAARM.” a voice called from the caravan.
Necun and Nickolas's eyes met before they broke into a sprint.