Mags and Marek learned more of their companions as the days went by. After sharing the basics about themselves, where they'd come from, and the purpose of the caravan, Gorb and the others kept largely to themselves. Marek was grateful for this, for it meant they wouldn’t pry into his own business.
His familiar had stayed quiet since leaving Middlebrook, but the dark presence was ever-present. Marek felt the being at the edge of his perception, and occasionally he thought he saw movement in his periphery, always shadowed and obscure. Part of him regretted choosing to bind the daemon, yet he was undoubtedly comforted by the additional power Allon lent him. There would be no learning curve when it came to summoning the familiar. The knowledge rested at his fingertips, silently urging him to call it forth every second of the day.
Marek resisted. He was afraid of the inevitable challenge of controlling Allon once unleashed.
In fact, Marek neglected training all of his mage Skills but one. He worked with Distort Soul every morning and night when he had a few minutes alone, or when he took up the rear of their formation and felt certain no eyes were upon him. The rest of his time was spent delving into sigilcraft.
He'd already leveled Sigilist three times. Carving tiny sigils onto the arrow shafts he'd purchased from Shutterkeep, Marek pushed his skill to its limit. This focus as well as the quality of the materials allowed his secondary Class to progress rapidly. The arrows were made of Song Willow, a dense wood named after the flutes traditionally carved from it.
Marek could only fit three sigils per shaft. Even so, he could easily imagine dozens of applications. His challenge wasn't simply to enchant each arrow but to come up with something that would enhance Mags' ability to kill. So far, his best creation was one he called Arrow of Rending. The head was enchanted to shatter upon impact—a devastating effect all on its own—and by adding the sigil Converge, the majority of the fragments traveled in a flat arc. Mags tested one of the arrows on a tree branch as thick as a broomstick. A tiny pop was all they heard, yet the branch dropped immediately, cut clean through.
He'd also crafted two Arrows of Bleeding. These had yet to be tested, of course, for there were no enemies at hand and trees didn't bleed like men or beasts. Until his friend could go hunting, they'd need to wait to find out how successful he'd been. And finally, Marek's Arrow of Piercing showed promise as well. A simple shot at an oak tree sank so deeply they left the arrow where it was.
Little else of note occurred while they approached the snow-capped mountains. Marek did catch Mags spying on Ashurai, however. She followed the man one night after he’d left to train. Marek excused himself a little while later to check on Ember and Cinnabar, only to circle round and spy on his friend. He found Mags watching the warrior through the trees. Ashurai danced with two blades. Every move was careful and elegant in the extreme. Mags was so focused on the man she didn't notice Marek observing her. And just before he withdrew, she unsheathed her brother's shortsword and began emulating the warrior's technique.
Nothing wrong with training, he thought as he worked his way back around the camp. Wonder why she doesn't just ask to join him.
The next day brought them to the foot of the first real mountain. Their climb began in earnest. Gorb impressed Marek. The golemite didn't slow or ask to stop, even while drawing the carriage laden with goods behind it.
Marek rode at the rear of the column with Mags ahead of him. Ashurai was nowhere in sight. The warrior disappeared often to scout ahead, so all was as it should be. The forest was quiet, and the mist of early morning had yet to burn off completely. Marek was just thinking how beautiful the mountains were when a sharp cry split the air.
A moment later, the thunder of hooves sounded from all sides. Then Ashurai shouted from the head of the column, "Druskin riders! Arm yourselves!"
Gorb unfastened the leather straps hung across its great shoulders, and a gleam of power surrounded its fists. Mags had her bow up and an arrow nocked as Marek drew the dark sword, wheeling around to check their rear.
A chorus of yelps rose from the forest. Their shrill intensity set Marek’s nerves on edge. Then the creatures closed in. He spotted three riders weaving toward them at an angle. Other figures crashed through the tree line at the caravan's flanks. The Druskin warriors rode an assortment of beasts: great boars, wolves, and a few antlered deer. To say the riders looked fierce would be an understatement. Despite their war cries, none so much as raised their long spears. They simply rode in a wide circle around the caravan, howling and yipping.
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Marek backed Ember so that he flanked Mags, facing the rear while she watched the sides of their group. Finally, two figures exited the ring and stopped before Ashurai. One Druskin stood a full head taller than the other, upwards of seven feet. He had a gray and black coat, spiky tufts of fur jutting up his back. Marek thought he saw thin tendrils of shadow surrounding the creature, but when he blinked his eyes, they were no longer there. He dismissed the observation, for too often had his senses gone awry since binding Allon.
The tall Druskin rode a proud stag, and though his mouth was that of a wolf, his speech only suffered a little when he addressed them. "Hail! I am Renga, Second War Chief of the Frost Fang Clan! Who leads these humans?"
"I speak for us," Ashurai answered at once. "We are simple traders heading to Domhan Morga to resupply. Why have you stopped us?”
The Druskin beside the leader yipped. He spoke in a harsh growl that made understanding his words much more challenging. "We do what we please! Our territory is vast, and the Frost Fang Clan decides who may and may not enter!”
"The Old Highway was paved by my people," Gorb said solemnly. "The golemite travel as they wish. Tell me, Druskin Lord, has the pact been revoked?"
Renga glared at his companion before promptly answering, “The pact remains… but war has come between the Druskin and the wretched Haikini. We will ask your business, then let you go."
"We trade in gems, various minerals, and ward stones purchased from the golemite people,” Ashurai said. “That is our only business."
The brown-furred Druskin beside Renga snarled. "You do not serve the Haikini, then? You are not spies of the rabbit peoples?”
Gorb's voice rose higher than Marek had ever heard. He felt each word vibrate across his skin from fifty feet away. "I am Gorbrashganvore, shardling of Grimbrashgan, Magdagnamore, and Shanrigrimvan! I am golemite, and as such, you should know I serve none but the teeth and claws and bones of the mountain! We take no part in wars, great or small!”
Renga fought to calm his mount, but the other standing with him failed in the attempt. The boar the Druskin sat upon skittered back into the ring of warriors despite its rider's commands.
Several of the Druskin raised their spears for the first time. All watched Renga, but the war chief remained composed. "No need for anger, ancient one. We mean no disrespect. You may go with the knowledge the Druskin here will bother you no more." Renga spun his hand in a tight circle, and the warriors began circling once more. The war chief spoke his next words not to Gorb or Ashurai, but to the group at large. Yellow eyes roving across the caravan, he said, "You have our peace, but be warned! Should I hear that any of you stray from the Old Highway and aid the Haikini, no amount of rumbling will stop my warriors from tearing you apart!"
Ashurai's face darkened, and the glow suffusing Gorb's hands increased. Before tensions rose further, the war chief howled three times in quick succession, and the party of Druskin departed. In seconds, they had disappeared into the forest.
Surprisingly, Gorb only picked up its harness and slung it in place once more. "We continue," it said calmly. Ashurai wasn't so composed, however. Face red and hands twitching, the warrior nevertheless obeyed.
A few minutes later, they were moving up the mountain once again. Marek's heart continued to pound, and it took an effort of will to sheathe the black sword. When he did so, a voice in his head hissed, Dissssappointing. I thought for sure we would taste blood. I haven't eaten in far too long.
We won't eat what isn't an enemy, Marek said firmly, adopting the daemon's phrasing. In fact, it's my hope you won't be needed at all during this journey.
Allon's laugh was like steel on steel. Don't be daft. No Remnant Mage has kept their hands clean, in fact. A sniffing sound echoed in Marek's mind. Yesss, I smell blood aplenty. Your soul's already been tainted, hasn't it? How many did you ssslay, Kaiteras? More than one, to be certain.
Marek steeled himself, grappling with anxiety and a strange urge to prove himself to this creature. I killed three men and some kobolds. All were necessary.
What is necessary is highly subjective, Allon answered in a mocking tone. Come, sssummon me, and we can ride the Druskin down. That pretty murder knife of yours would make quick work of them.
Instead of answering, Marek closed his eyes and focused his will. Then he pushed at the daemon's presence. Slowly, Allon lost ground, and Marek found his mind his own once more.
The group made camp that night near the peak of the mountain. Forgoing a fire, not wanting to be seen from afar, they ate a cold meal and prepared to rest. No one traded stories that night, yet an hour after nightfall, Ashurai roused Marek and Mags. He brought them to the edge of camp and pointed through a gap in the trees.
"Look to the west," he said. "The beast kin tribes may look as primitive as the kobolds. Do not let their furs and bone armor fool you. They have many Classed fighters among them, and their power is considerable."
Marek's stomach twisted as he watched the battle raging on the opposite peak. Faintly, he could hear howls and yips, and occasionally a scream of agony. Flashes of orange, red, and pale blue lit the mountaintop.
"They're casting Spells?" Mags asked.
Ashurai nodded. "As I said, the beast kin are powerful. Both Haikini and Druskin boast not only warriors but mages as well. You'll be fortunate if we finish our trip without learning firsthand."
The Basari's words hung heavily on Marek's heart as he crawled into the tent beside Mags. Not so long ago, he'd have feared being butchered by one of the beast kin. Now he only feared what he might become should he be forced to embrace his full potential.