The pewter mugs made a solid thumping sound on the table top as Gost placed them in front of Dyrik. The great room of the inn hummed with voices and occasional spurts of music from men hoping to earn their next drink with a song. A squeezebox weezed in direct conflict with a drum and pipe combo that thumped and trilled a tune that was almost identifiable. Almost. Gost collapsed into a chair, kicking his feet out and taking a deep drink from one of the mugs. Dyrik picked his up and inspected it carefully before taking a cautious sip. Gost laughed, “Checking for bugs? Don’t let Pechen see you doing that, you might end up in a pie.”
Dyrik raised an eyebrow as he took another deliberately small sip. “I like to keep my good habits in place, thank you very much. Just because the inn here is clean and nobody is currently trying to poison me doesn’t mean I’m going to let myself get complacent. If that means offending your delicate sensibilities by scrying my ale, then I suppose that's a burden I’ll have to bear.”
Gost sat up abruptly, and just as abruptly changed the subject. “Speaking of bears, I might need your help soon. The forest has been alive with beasts recently, far more than I’ve seen since we first came here in spite of how many I’ve dealt with. Wolves, bears, and I swear, I’ve seen sign of darker things. Things I haven’t seen since the war.” He ran a large hand through his dark, close-cut hair and drained the contents of his mug. Dyrik said nothing, but leaned forward and stared intently into his drink for a moment, as if he was staring through it straight to the floor. After a moment, he sighed, took a long swallow and leaned back in his seat. “Nothing. I’m still getting nothing clear when I scry the area. Just trees and rocks and more damn trees.” He snorted, “too many damn trees, that’s the problem, Gost. They’re trees but they don’t read like trees. There’s something there and I just can’t sus it out.”
Gost grinned at his friend’s frustration. “Well, your magical talents were generally in other areas than sneaking and scrying and that boring academic wizardry. Have you considered setting a few of the trees on fire, see if they keep acting like trees then?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Don’t pretend you need tempting, you walking tinder box”
The two men laughed and touched their mugs together before draining them dry and calling for another round.
***
Gost stepped lightly through the forest, rounding a large bolder and holding his hand up, palm facing backwards to signal Dyrik to halt. He crouched, feeling at the soft earth near his feet. After a moment, he gestured for his companion to come closer, whispering as he did, “see here, looks like bear. But under the bear track, there’s something else. Do you see it?”
Dryik touched the pattern in the dirt, then closed his eyes and placed both hands over it. “Not just bear, you’re right. I’m picking up something else, although the impression is old and much covered. It’s familiar, and I hate to say it but it reminds me of some of the things we had to face on the Modoc Plains campaign. I didn’t think that had spilled over that far into the kingdom that the Enemy’s creatures might be found here, but I’d be a damn fool if I ignored what I can see and feel with my own senses.”
Gost knelt, eying the ground thoughtfully.
“We killed all that the enemy threw at us, and more besides, but Command always assumed some got away from the route at Lava Run. I suppose it’s possible they might have made it this far, but I don’t think we’re that lucky, you and I.”
Dyrik’s eyes sharpened as he said, “you don’t think…”
“I do.” Ghost replied.
“Shit.”
“Shit is right. I think we’re looking at an Abhorrent Forge, or something similar.“
“That would explain the camoflauge. No wonder I can’t see anything. But how the hell did a forge get created this far from the enemy? And in such a strategically useless area? It doesn’t make sense.”
“My friend, you know better than most that sometimes things like this don't make any more sense than the whim of the mad mage that felt like inflicting their mood on the rest of us.”
Gost stood and brushed the dust from his knees, adjusting the quiver that hung at his side and checking the string on his bow. “Well, you’re the mage, I’m the muscle. I’m up for killing our way to the bottom of this mystery, just point me in the right direction.” He hopped up and down, making stabbing motions with both arms to indicate the slaying of potential foes. Dyrik laughed dryly. “You know it won’t be that easy. If it is an Abhorrent Forge, there will be layers upon layers of defensive spells. Depending on who placed it here it may be well beyond my ability to even skry its location, much less penetrate its defenses. The last one we destroyed took a team of mages and a small army, if you’ll recall. This one though, it feels different. I can’t place it, but I don’t think it’s as simple as that. I think I need to check in with the Order, maybe see if I can get the latest books on self-sustaining monster creating processes. Gost I hate to say it but I think we have to go to Shelbivil, maybe even Dermo.”
To Dyrik’s surprise, Gost brightened at the news. “Well that’s not too bad, I happen to know a certain merchant who was heading that way yesterday, I’ll bet if we hurry we might catch him up and keep each other company!”
The pair returned to where they had left their horses ground-hitched and wasted no time returning to the main road in pursuit of Krosa’s father.
***
They smelled the smoke before they saw the remains of the wagon. Polenach’s low, sturdy rig sat smoking and ruined at the side of the road, the oxen that had once pulled it were laid out in jagged pieces around it. The wood looked as if it had been blasted apart from the inside. The two men approached quickly and aggressively, Gost with an arrow nocked and Dyrik holding a long narrow sword that glowed slightly and caused the air to shimmer around it like a desert mirage. After a quick survey of the area determined no immediate threat, they examined the scene. Once again, Dyrik knelt and felt at the ground, trying to read the traces left in the world by the beings that had recently disturbed it. Some mages with a talent for such things could almost live the past again in their minds while doing such readings, but his abilities had always leaned in a more destructive direction. The hints he got were enough though.
“I think Polenach is alive. Or at least he was. The wagon blew out from the inside, some sort of alchemical reaction. Probably something related to that machine he’s always messing with. That set the fire, it looks like he used the wagon exploding as a distraction to get away. I think he went…”
“This way”. Gost stated as he began to trot into the woods, following the trail he’d found while casting around the perimeter of the wreck. The round merchant was no woodsman, and his trail might as well have been marked with painted arrows to anyone who knew what to look for. At a light jog, they proceeded into the woods, weapons ready. After an hour, they lost the trail as it seemed to vanish into thin air. Shortly after, they lost their bearings as they tried to pick up some sign of where Polenach had gone. After another hour of frustrated attempts to retrace their steps, they found themselves back at the road, only a few hundred yards from the now smoldering wreck of the wagon. The men shared a long look, then a nod, and they remounted the horses they had left next to the road and set off back to town at a trot.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
***
Polenach stumbled over what felt like an infinite number of branches and brambles as he fought his way through the ever-thickening undergrowth. He’d been struggling through what felt like the densest forest of his life since the attack on his wagon that morning. His first initial flight into the trees to escape the beasts that had attacked him had been without heed to direction or bearing, and once he had felt safe from pursuit he’d quickly discovered that he was well and truly lost. While not a woodsman, Polenach was not a stranger to the wilds, and had been using every trick of navigation that he had ever heard of to try to find his way clear of dense brush. Sticky evergreen boughs had left their residue on his hands and clothing, and he was covered in scratches from running blindly from his attackers and the subsequent crawl through the brambles that seemed to grow up from nowhere, directly in the path he felt most likely to lead him back towards the road.
He sighed heavily and paused to mop sweat from his forehead, despite the cool autumn temperatures. The sun was beginning to go down, and the forest grew darker and more ominous as the light fled. He shuddered, thinking of encountering the creatures that had attacked him in the dark. They had been beasts, but unlike any beast he had seen. Uncanny creatures that resembled wolves and bears in shape and size, but with twisted asymmetrical features, along with horns and antlers and hooves in unequal measure. He even thought he’d seen one with feathers! Polenach had managed to ignite the alchemical ingredients stored in the wagon, resulting in an explosion that had surprised even him with its effect on the creatures. Many of them had been wounded by shards of wooden toys and other items, or burned by the alchemical flames which stuck to flesh and fur causing them to scream and roar horribly. Some had fled, some had attacked other beasts in their pain and confusion. None had bothered to follow him as he made his escape. He silently thanked the sturdy backboard of the wagon that had protected him from the blast, and set out again.
It was another hour before the brush began to thin, and the trees loomed larger around him. It seemed that the darker it became, the bigger the trees grew and the more clear space there was for him to walk. As the last of the sun's rays pierced the canopy in a pink haze, the weary merchant felt his feet stumble onto the surface of a road. Excited, he raised his head and cast his eyes about, looking for familiar landmarks that would tell him the direction and distance to the relative safety of his home. He almost wept with relief at the thought of seeing Krosa again, of holding her tight and promising he’d never ignore Gost’s warnings again. Throughout his entire ordeal, the thought that he’d not allowed himself to entertain was the impact of his death or disappearance on his only daughter. She would search for him, he knew. Search for him in the forest where those hideous beasts still roamed. Krosa was a strong young woman, resourceful and intelligent. But those beasts were beyond the range of her limited magic, and she was no warrior or hunter. Now that he was so near to safety, the thoughts of her being left alone and wondering about his fate crashed into Polenach, nearly bringing him to his knees as the relief of his salvation clashed with what could have been.
Taking deep breaths, he calmed himself and returned his attention to the road. As he did so, he felt his soul freeze. This was not the road between Provints and Shelbivil. As the realization struck him the sky faded past dusk and into full dark, leaving him alone in the night. A wailing howl rose from the trees he had just left, shivering across his ears as it was joined by another, and another….
***
Krosa’s hands twisted around the wooden cup in her hands. Her father had given it to her the year before on her 20th birthday. The cup had intricate scroll-work that framed delicately carved scenes from her favorite stories growing up. In one, a child ruined a grumpy bear’s breakfast. In another, a pair of mice mounted an imposing throne. The third and final scene showed a young girl in a boat, heading out to sea to make her fortune. On the dock there stood a lone figure, waving farewell to the girl. Polenach had told her that that story hadn’t been written yet, but maybe someday she would come back and tell it to him. Her fingers traced the lone figure in the carving, and fought down tears as she met the mournful gazes of the two men who sat across from her in the kitchen her father had built for her mother before Krosa was born.
“Is he dead?” She asked.
Gost and Dyrik exchanged glances before Dyrik shook his head.
“I..we don’t know, Krosa. Where we lost his trail, there was other sign. The beasts that attacked his wagon seemed to have been going in the same general direction, although I couldn’t say for sure they were following him.”
Gost piped up. “Your father is a resourceful man. The fact that he survived the attack at all gives me hope that he lives still. From his trail, it was clear that he was uninjured from his flight through the woods. But the problem here is much greater than just beasts and getting lost.”
“Magic.” Krosa hissed flatly, gripping her cup and standing to pace the room.
“Magic.” Dyrik agreed. “And far beyond my abilities to combat at the moment, unfortunately. We were on our way to Shelbivil to see what resources we could gather to learn more about what this is when we came across your father’s wagon.” He glanced out the window at the approaching gloom, and sighed. “We’ll trust you to notify the council, but I think given the circumstances we will likely set back out tonight.”
Krosa stopped her pacing. “Let me go with you.”
The room sat in silence for a moment as the men considered the young woman earnestly. They were seasoned campaigners, well used to hardship, privation, and danger. Despite their often joking demeanor, they had spent more time in the company of the Death God than most. They had also seen many young men and women throw themselves into the meat grinder of war, and come out the other side changed forever, if they came out at all. Faces of old friends and comrades flashed through their minds as they considered the question, and what they knew of Krosa.
Dyrik was the first to respond. “I’m only saying this because I feel I have to, not because I think it will make any difference. If you come with us, you will be taking a step down a road you cannot come back from. You will learn things, experience things, that will change you. Maybe for the better but probably for the worse. You will lose parts of yourself you treasure and find parts of yourself you never knew existed, and will mourn both. If you go with us, you can never go back to being a provincial merchant’s daughter. You may not find your father, much less find him alive. You may die. You may watch us die. And there are worse things than Uncle Death, especially when magic of this sort is involved. There is dark sorcery afoot, and it leaves a mark on you that can’t be cleaned if you approach it too closely.” He paused, meeting her eyes and letting the words rest in the air between them. “Krosa I don’t think your father would want this for you. The last thing he would want would be for you to sacrifice yourself for him. No father wants that. But, if you choose this path, I swear to you that I will do everything I can to help you walk it.”
Dyrik dropped his eyes to his boots, and said no more.
Krosa looked at Gost, who sat at ease in his chair. Even in such a tense situation, the man looked like he was lounging on a throne made of feather pillows. A slight smile curved at the corner of his mouth, causing the faint scars on his face to shift in a way that was both cavalier and somehow menacing. He spoke. “You can come with us, if you try your best to not get us or yourself killed. All that stuff Dyrik said is true, but he overthinks things like most wizards do. Me, I don’t have that problem. I say, listen to your gut. Mine says you should join us. What about yours?”
Krosa took one last look at the third panel of the cup in her hands, at the girl on the boat, setting off for the horizon. At the figure on the dock, waving.
“Let’s go.”
***
When they reached the burned-out hulk of her father’s wagon, they paused once more to examine the scene, in the vain hope that there might be some sign of Polenach there. Instead they found fresh tracks of the beasts that had originally attacked Krosa’s father.
“There are fewer of them, and many are wounded. May have been from the wagon exploding, perhaps their injuries were severe enough to make them give up the chase” Gost said from next to the fresh tracks and still cooling blood that spattered the ground around them.
Dyrik knelt and placed a hand on one of the tracks, concentrating. “The wounds are too fresh for that, and aren’t burns or caused by wood shrapnel.” His eyebrows drew together as he frowned with concentration. “These beasts have been in a fight, and a rough one at that. They fled the encounter, and took the worst of it from what I can see. But I can’t tell where they were fighting, or what. All I get is blurs. And something…something large.”
He stood and looked at Krosa. “Whatever happened, I didn’t get any sense of your father being involved. This doesn’t change anything, except we are less likely to be attacked as he was, at least until the beasts regroup.” Krosa nodded, sparing one last plaintive look at the wagon, at the last connection she had to her father’s fate. Then they spurred their horses onward.