When Chrys looked around next morning, three sierlak were active overhead, although the forest line was encouragingly closer. Dispiritingly, they were still there mid-morning, at noon and in the afternoon. They waited until dark and then set out to make the best distance they could. However the lower ground proved treacherous and their progress was interrupted by streams and bogs. Some time was spent pulling Grymwer out of mire and more circling a large marsh. The sierlak may have been absent but other smaller creatures were out in force. They all wore amulets against insect bites and stings, but there were leeches, water-nippers and squirter-frogs. When dawn neared they had travelled only a short way and were muddy, bitten, itchy and tired. It was a glum band that finally made camp in a large clump of reeds.
“Unless we get some sleep we will not be able to access the ether in the morning,” Chrys told the group. There were nods and the three magicians spread their cloaks over bent reeds and lay down to get what rest they could. Aitonala curled up on a groundsheet while Bajur and Rakt kept a cautious lookout. By mid-morning they had seen no sierlak and we discussing whether to wake the magicians when Bajur cocked an ear.
“I hear someone whistling.” Rakt gave him a quizzical look.
“No, really. Listen.” They both fell silent. Bajur was right – there was a faint tune audible. Rakt very slowly raised his head into the gap between the reeds and the cloth and equally slowly scanned first the sky and then the surrounds. He pulled back with the same care and turned to Bajur.
“There’s a man out there with a bird on his head. He’s looking along the margins of the reeds.”
Aitonala stirred, and they poked the others awake. A short time later, Rakt again raised his head, again scanned the sky and then called out. There was a startled exclamation and then a short exchange. Rakt ducked down.
“He speaks really bad Saka and I can only understand half of what he said. He’s looking for poriwik eggs. I think he’s a gatherer and Corillionese.”
“Let me try,” said Cardnial. There followed a longer conversation, after which Cardnial stepped out. The others followed. There on the edge of the reeds stood a sturdy man of middle years, clad in nondescript brown clothes and hung about with sacks and bundles. He had a short stick in one hand and, as Rakt had said, a large bird on his head. Or rather on his hat, a shapeless felt affair with a dropping-streaked neck-cloth attached. The bird was of the parrot tribe, black, red-crested and with a vicious beak. Every so often the man would dip into a pouch and reach up to give it a small nut, which it cracked with ease.
“Start me, you did,” he called in accented Saka.
“We are sorry,” Rakt repeated, then “Are you not concerned about the sierlak?”
This got a puzzled look. It soon became clear that any exchange would have to be through Cardnial, and a dialogue ensued in that language. As he relayed it, the man was one Marul, a member of the Finder’s Web out collecting from the moors. He said his bird would alert him to any sierlak and he evaded their attentions by assuming the shape of a small tree. This was easy to believe, as the stalks, leaves and other vegetation about his person left little more to do. The forest was three days walk due west, according to Marul, but a long mere blocked the direct route. It was not deep and the bottom was firm but a group of sierlak hunted there often. The thought of being caught in waist-deep water caused a round of shudders.
After some dickering Marul agreed to guide them along the best route west for the remainder of the day. He collected a few more eggs from the reeds and set out at a steady pace, his bundles swaying about him. Cardnial walked alongside, eliciting what information he could. According to Marul, the area they had crossed was the home range of a large sierlak and her mates. A bachelor band hunted the margins; he thought they were presently more north. Marul left the skies to his bird, scanning the ground around for collectable material, often stopping to dig out a root, scrape an insect into a box or pluck a bundle of leaves. Still, they covered the ground quickly, as they did not need to find detours around bogs or search for places to cross streams. When he left them that evening they looked out over a wide sheet of water. Follow the bank north for two days, Marul advised, then cross the stream at the head and bear west for another two days and they would be off the moors.
That evening Chrys put forward an idea she had been mulling over through the day.
“The Greater Barrier creates a sphere which can easily hold us all, centred on the caster. The problem is that it does not allow matter to cross, so if you cast it while standing on the ground you are fixed by tons of earth or stone. What if I were to cast it so that it contained us all and only air beside? It would be proof against anything the sierlak could do, and we could fly straight west. We would be at or very near the forest before the spell expired.”
She worked through the problems with Cardnial and Grymwer. They would need to annul the weight of at least four of the party and elevate them all into a tight group around Chrys. They did not know exactly what would happen if the sierlak attacked, but Chrys assured them that nothing material could cross the barrier.
They put the plan into action early next morning. Everyone but Cardnial and Chrys roped together, then four quick casts sent them bobbing about in the light breeze. Cardnial and Chrys spoke the Words to activate Flight and rose up, keeping the four close. Chrys then began the complex chant that would create the Greater Barrier, Words droned, sung, warbled and shouted. A light pink shimmer formed about the cluster and she leaned forward to speed to the west. Just as she did so Cardnial shouted “Sierlak!”
Chrys leaned forward more, tilting her shoulders so that their course offset the wind’s push on the sphere. There was no noise inside the sphere but their own breathing. The water was a silver blur below. The sierlak struck the pink sphere with all the force of a dive from height, talons to the fore. The impact sent all but Chrys and Cardnial sprawling and the sphere skipping across the water like a skimmed stone. Chrys swung her legs to gain height as the shore approached. The sphere and its cursing occupants were rushing across the lakeside heath when the sierlak struck again. The impact forced the sphere down. It slowed abruptly as it met the earth, sending the sierlak atop it hurtling forward to sprawl across the scrub. Chrys pulled it up and on. Aitonala had landed on top of the human heap and now called out that another sierlak was approaching.
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“Cardnial, help! We need more force. Aitoni, tell us when it’s about to hit,” Chrys yelled. Cardnial wrapped his arms around her waist and flew with her.
“Up and left on the word,” Chrys shouted to Cardnial. Aitonala called out and Chrys twisted hard while throwing her legs forward. Cardnial mirrored her movements. The sphere shot up and left. The sierlak had no time to alter course and went past. Chrys leaned forward and they scudded west.
“They are both back in the air, climbing for height,” Aitonala reported. Rakt and Bajur had both lain down, braced as best they might against movement. Cardnial’s Flight spell lapsed and he dropped down to join them.
“They’re coming in, one from each side,” Aitonala warned. Cardnial twisted to look, waited a few heart-beats then screamed “stop!” Chrys leaned back hard. The sphere braked sharply, the sierlak went past and collided in a silent flurry of necks, wings and snapping jaws. Chrys grinned, veered right and accelerated again.
“Good one,” then, on another thought, “Grymwer, cast Null-Weight on Cardnial, but be ready to annul it.”
They flew straight for a time and Aitonala called that she could see the forest coming up. The Clock cantrip was giving Chrys that ‘not-quite-right’ feeling that told her the barrier spell was coming to its end. The sierlak were still pursuing, but now more warily, hanging back. She warned the others and they sorted the ropes out. The sphere winked out of existence but they flew on, now with the sounds of the wind and of excited caws.
“Here come the chickens,” called Rakt. Chrys angled down and brought them to a rough but passable landing, still too far from the trees to run for shelter. Rakt had cocked his crossbow and now scrambled into position. Bajur came up beside him to plant his angled spear against the ground. Grymwer stepped to his other side, stabbed his halberd butt into the turf and drew the spell rod. His sharp command restored Cardnial’s weight. The leading sierlak checked at this show of defiance, then stooped to hover over the group, screaming wildly and sending great buffets of air down. The tactic was perhaps aimed at scattering them, but it gave Grymwer the opening he needed. With a single word the spell rod spat a black band that fell across the sierlak’s eyes. It shrieked and tumbled about in the air, disconcerting its companion. The pair spiralled about each other, the one calling in distress, the other in distracted anxiety.
“Go for the trees,” Rakt said and took off at a quick jog, pausing to check on the sierlak every dozen paces. Once under the boughs they turned again. One sierlak had risen high, away from the blind one. The other flew erratically, now climbing, now dipping, twisting and turning as it sought to rid itself of the band. As they watched it dropped fast, recovered, slipped sideways, caught a wing-tip on a small tree and slammed into the ground. Before it could get up Rakt ran forward, planted his feet and sent a deliberate quarrel into its neck. There was a spurt of blood, the sierlak staggered up and whipped its head about only to hit a tree-trunk with stunning force. Chrys sent an arrow into the black band, making the sierlak thrash its tail in agony. As the blood soaked the feathers its struggles weakened, until Grymwer was able to approach and bring his blade down on the supine neck.
“Why shoot it, Rakt?” asked Aitonala as they looked at the great body lying there. “It was blind, and we were safe under the trees.”
“Partly because I am pissed off these things hunted us, but mostly because Cardnial said that collector asked if we had found any feathers. Apparently they are valuable.”
“Profit. There’s a motive I can agree with,” said Chrys. “Who has a sack and how many can we carry?”
* * * *
Aitonala heard the distinctive chunk of an axe hitting wood two days later. She halted, listened, then moved towards the sound. A change in light showed a clearing ahead and then came the sound of voices along with the blows of the axe. She checked behind, to see the others following at no great distance, then went on, to see a rude shelter and two rough-clad men trimming a fallen trunk. A small stack of squared timbers awaited transport. Two men were no threat, so Aitonala stepped from the trees with a friendly hail.
The woodcutters looked up, expressions going from surprise to gap-toothed leers. One dropped a hand to his belt, then removed it to straighten up as tall Rakt appeared, then Grymwer with halberd, Bajur with spear, Chrys with bow and Cardnial in worn finery, dagger at hip. The leers became alarm. Aitonala gave a tight smile. The alarm deepened.
Once again Cardnial was the translator. They were, it seemed, another two days travel from the coast. The information came with clear directions, an offer of food and pointers to a desirable camp site they could easily reach by nightfall if they kept up a good pace and left right away. The directions were accurate. In the early afternoon of the second day they stood on a high cliff overlooking the myriad islands and reef-studded waters of the Corillion Coast. Cardnial pointed out the features within view.
“Those hills out there to the south-west, that’s Liwy Island. There’s a town called Umma tucked into a bay just below that double peak. It’s Kanna Saka land, so we can’t go there with Hassani, of course. You see that black lump just off the north shore? That’s Lagash. It’s a wretched hive of piracy and any other kind of crime, but that’s where we’ll look for a ship. One capable of running past the sea-monsters – this coast is infested with them.”
Aitonala knotted her fingers, then swept her gaze across the water below.
“You mean like that thing with two heads straight out there, about, oh a third of the way to the horizon? Or whatever it is that looks like a large crocodile with a hump. You can see the shadow in the open water out past that third reef. They look worse than sierlak.” She turned her eyes to the town below, a huddle of dark stone on an island more rock than grass.
“If this were a story I would say that was the wicked king’s stronghold, or maybe the trolls’. Definitely not the town where the blessed aunties hand out helpful advice and talking dolls.”
Cardnial agreed that it was indeed a naughty place. They stood for a time and then turned towards the trail that wound down the scarp to the patchwork of farmland below. The next morning they watched the ferry to Lagash winch itself across the water towards the mainland wharf. The waves running before it washed around the pilings below their feet and the air was thick with the smells of salt water, seaweed, tar and old wood. Bajur had never seen the sea before, and drank it all in greedily. The ferry bumped against the fenders, a hand swung the walkway into place and a few rural folk filed across, laden with the morning’s shopping. The hand collected the charge, they crossed onto the gently rocking deck and the ferry pulled away from the wharf.