As the day rolled on and the afternoon dwindled, Charlot’s stomach warbled of its emptiness. Earlier that day, he’d finished the last of the light provisions the villagers had gifted him as Korak snuffled up at him hopefully. Cursebreaking was hungry work. Charlot had expended a great deal of energy. As the day expired, so, too would his chances of finding any sort of food, so Charlot looked around in earnest, wondering if they might somehow take a hare or a young pig unawares.
Yet, most animals could hear the thunderous steps of the bear from quite some distance. As they plodded west, Charlot as he dreamed of eggs, boiled just right so that the whites were firm and the yolks were golden just barely cooked.
Perhaps some oatmeal, served with sapwine molasses, or a few tart wintermelons. Not for the first time, he remembered the widow Ytrette's stew, and his mouth grew wet at the memory.
They were near running water, and Charlot could hear it long before he could see it. They came upon the swift-running Blouche River, though, on this stretch, it was little more than an upjumped stream. Charlot suspected he could ride Korak across without even getting his feet wet.
The bear trotted forward with excitement, and before Charlot could even dismount, he thrust his head into the river and drank eagerly, swallowing half a barrel at a gulp. Charlot climbed down and stretched, leaning on his staff for support.
The chorus of Charlot’s groaning joints vied with the bear’s noisy slurping, and the aged wizard tottered about, trying to walk the stiffness out of his legs. With Flaccaro in hand, he strolled north along the riverbank. A cool breeze blew down the stream, much welcomed after the long ride in the sun, and he felt quite serene now that he wasn’t bopping up and down with each of Korak’s long strides. Ahead, there was a soft roar of falling water, and he walked a little farther. Behind him, the bear crashed toward him.
As he approached the waterfall, Charlot could see shadows moving in the distance. Automatically, he slipped on the ring of protection, and the roar became a whisper. He kept creeping forward, trusting the ring to keep him obscured, and was finally close enough to make out the shadows.
There were three deer drinking from a deep pool beneath the waterfall not ten paces away from him! Their heads were lowered to drink, and the sunlight gleamed on the pool and caught their fur in a shining outline. The closest was a stag. Charlot could make out a fine set of antlers and placed him at just over three years old. He supposed the other two were does, but they were a bit too far to see clearly.
How fine roasted venison would taste! But he had to act quickly. Korak was bringing up the rear, and soon, he would spook these three. For a moment, Charlot was loath to slay the young stag in the prime of his youth, but then his stomach rumbled so loudly he was surprised it didn't give him away.
I'll be swift, Charlot promised silently. He slid the shadowflame ring onto his other hand, and in a rush of flame and darkness, he appeared behind the stag, reached out a hand, and spoke a single, heavy word.
//runes//
It meant mercy. The stag leapt away in surprise, but not before Charlot’s hand struck his flank, and the deer was dead before he hit the ground. There was no pain.
What power! To be able to deliver spells that required physical contact consistently, it changed everything! Well worth an afternoon's work.
The task done, Charlot blinked, finding his vision poorer than usual. He realized there was smoke all around him, and he squinted, smelling burnt fur and scorched flesh. This was not part of the quietus spell! Charlot heard an inhuman whine of pain, and he saw that the does had fallen to the ground instead of fleeing as he'd planned.
What in the Void?
There was no time to wonder what had happened. The closest doe was stone dead, with her head withered and charred, but the third was on the ground, kicking her legs, too badly burnt to rise. Carefully, he slipped around the slashing hooves and laid a hand on the fallen doe, administering the sigil of mercy again. Instantly, the doe was released from her agony.
"What happened?" Charlot wondered aloud. Immediately, he felt shame. It was wrong to kill does unless there was a great need. He'd meant for the others to simply bolt. He saw the set of footprints where he’d materialized and the dead stag, both unburnt. But there was a circle of charred black earth three paces from where he’d appeared, extending for another three steps. The does had been in that ring, and they’d suffered terribly for it.
At once, he suspected an interaction between the Nemonullus and the shadowflame ring. The circle of burnt earth was just at the border of the ring of protection’s effective radius. The brief journey through the Yala hadn't been painful this time. Somehow, the energy of the plane had been caught as he traveled through it, and like a snowball rolling down a hill, it had built and exploded outward as he appeared.
He blinked, surveying the destruction, and then he concentrated on the shadowflame ring, wondering if it might have wanted this, but it was silent. This was not unusual. Few artifacts had any personality, and even those that did were slow to reveal themselves.
Generally, they simply desired to do their function.
"Korak! Come!" Charlot bid, and the bear crashed forward, snuffling the air tentatively, and he approached with reluctance.
"You can eat the burnt ones, friend," Charlot offered. Korak sniffed at the blackened deer, and then backed away, making an unhappy grunt.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Interesting! Had Korak simply gorged too much on potatoes, or was there some taint of Yala on the meat the bear could sense? Charlot had a sudden urge to get rid of the ring, to simply toss it into the stream and forget about it. He resisted the urge. It was not uncommon to feel this way with enchanted items that dealt death.
It had taken years of owning Vitserpadag before he no longer desired to cast the phase dagger away after each use, and he would never be fully comfortable with it. In the end, it was just a tool, hungry to be used for its purpose.
"What about this one," Charlot asked, pointing to the unburnt stag. "Can you lift it, like you lifted the shadowcat? LIFT Korak!"
Korak understood! He had no compunctions about grabbing the deer by its hind leg and lifting it into the air while Charlot set to work with Vitserpadag. Soon, the circle of unburnt ground was dotted with blood. The phase knife hummed with pleasure as Charlot expertly butchered and skinned the deer. Surely there was no finer blade in all the Arc.
Charlot took the loin and set it on a flat stone by the river, then offered the rest of the deer to Korak. Though he'd gobbled a season's worth of potatoes just hours before, Korak had no qualms about devouring the stag.
As he'd done with the shadowcat hide, Charlot scraped and cleaned the skin, then he took it to the waterfall, thinking to use the force of the water to wash it more deeply. There was no time to cure it in the sun as it deserved, and he didn't want it to smell of rot. He had been a fine stag, in the prime of his youth, and Charlot didn’t want his hide to go to waste.
As he rinsed the hide in the waterfall, Charlot squinted against the mist. It was almost dusk, but he could just barely make out a fissure in the stone face behind the waterfall, perhaps just large enough for him to slip in, if he could manage to get there on the slick rocks without falling into the river.
Shelter for the night, perhaps? He would certainly like to sleep without risking another nightmare beneath the black diamond ward. Yet, if he could lair there, no doubt something else could. There was every chance some beast was already waiting for him within.
What would live in such a cave? He would surely get soaked to the skin if he entered, and definitely Korak could not join him. Would the bear abandon him if he were left on his own for a night? Charlot was surprised at the alarm he felt at the prospect. As he made his way back to Korak, Charlot told himself that it was only that he needed to be mounted if he was to have any hope of catching the thief. Certainly, it wasn’t because he’d be lonely on his own!
“There is a cavern behind the waterfall! I shall set the loin to roast on a spit, and then I'll explore the cave," Charlot informed the bear, who was too focused on gnawing the bones of the stag to pay him any mind.
A bit south of the burnt circle, Charlot found an opportune spot for his fire and built a spit beside the river. He found a suitable young false cypress, and Vitserpadag went to work again, fashioning two Y-shaped sticks for the spit holders, and then stripping a long branch to serve as the spit.
He cut three other branches about the right length, and then cut notches into his spit and fitted the sticks into them. These were the spokes. Then, he ripped strips of bark from a nearby white birch and wound them around the ends of his spokes to make paddles. He frayed the ends of the birch and tied the strips of bark in tight knots so they would not slip off in the stream.
Completed, he drove the Y-shaped sticks into the ground, and then lanced the venison loin on the spit, then he set the spit on the holders so that the paddles dipped into the river. At first, it didn't turn, but he took the phase knife and smoothed the spots where the spit met the holders. Then, the force of the stream was enough to set the spit turning, and Charlot smiled, thinking himself rather clever.
Charlot called for Korak. The bear had made short work of the stag and was sniffing at the burnt does uncertainly. Averse or not, Charlot predicted the charred does would be eaten before the night was through.
The bear thumped along the path to him, his tongue lolling, his maw streaked with blood. He washed his face and paws in the river, and then drank great mouthfuls of it. The bear peered at the turning spit, his head rolling from side to side as he observed the turning of the spokes, and then huffed uncertainly at the apparatus.
The pair walked up the stream, looking for dry wood. When Charlot found a heavy oak branch that was damp on the outside but dry at the core, he cut it into pieces he could carry with the phase knife. To his surprise, Korak picked up the thick end of the branch that was too heavy for Charlot unbidden and lifted it in his mouth.
"Good bear!" Charlot praised, and the stubby tail wagged. They carried the firewood back up to the spit, and Charlot shredded more birch bark as kindling and laid the wood around it, preparing to set up a long, slow burning fire. The sun set as he worked, and Charlot struggled to see what he was doing.
His vision might have improved a touch during the day but, at night, he was as blind as ever. Charlot was about to light the fire with a simple cantrip when he noticed Flaccaro standing beside the spit, where he'd rooted it.
"I suppose everyone else has seen some use but you today, splendid Flaccaro. Will you light my fire?" He lifted the staff and felt its haughty reluctance to perform such a simple task, but when he touched the staff's base to the ball of kindling, it ignited at once. Proud though it was, Flaccaro still wanted to be of use.
“Ah, if only all men were as useful as you three, the world would be a paradise,” Charlot addressed Flaccaro, Vitserpadag, and Korak. Korak twitched his ears, Vitserpadag hummed in its sheath, and perhaps Flaccaro blazed a touch brighter at the praise.
Night fell, and Charlot was glad to have the fire's light. Suddenly, a yawn overtook him, and he realized there would be no spelunking this night. In fact, there was a real danger he would fall asleep before the loin was cooked enough to eat.
As the moon rose, Charlot resigned himself to another night beneath the black diamond ward. He wanted to chance sleeping without it, but that would be terribly foolish. This was a dangerous spot, Animals would come to the pool to drink in the night, anyone could see the light of his fire and, on top of all that, the sound of the waterfall and the fire would keep him from hearing danger approach. There was every chance he could be taken unaware, just as the deer had been.
With the wild sounds of the night growing around him, Charlot missed his Citadel, the familiar featherbed that knew his shape so well. The wide hearth, fed by sweet cherry wood, a roof to keep out the damp, and a whole island of defenses surrounding him.
The master arcanist missed his home, yet, around him, there was the comforting smoke and warmth of his fire, and the wonderful smell of cooking venison. In his pocket was a powerful new ring, at his side a gargantuan new ally, and in the morning, he could peek into the cavern and satisfy his curiosity. It had been a fruitful journey, whatever its outcome.
The fire crackled, the waterfall roared, and the bear snored. Setting the deerskin on the ground, Charlot took the shadowcat hide and wrapped it around himself, leaning with his back against Korak's ample side.
"I will set up the ward after the roast is through," Charlot resolved. He was asleep within seconds.