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What's Magic For?
Thoughts Count

Thoughts Count

The bends, climbs and descents of the trail were, after travelling it twice, almost familiar. The party did not expect to see their Brahnak quarry for some days, but this was still the Wild. They were appropriately cautious, seeking campsites where they could not readily be ambushed and investigating strange occurrences with caution. Of these last the Wild offered the usual small oddities. No old ladies came forward with obscure advice, and the plant chorale had vanished. Rakt nearly stood on an ant-heap but Grymwer noticed in time that the ants had arranged tiny pebbles into characters that spelled out “Ants. Do Not Tread”.

“What happens if some large animal treads on the heap?” asked Rakt.

“It pays a price for being illiterate, I presume,” replied Grymwer.

In another place a small platoon of lizards marched back and forth across some rough grass, in what Rakt said was a fair approximation of basic drill. Two days later Chrys and Kosohona sat eating lunch and watching a bush throw things at and to birds. As they sat there a fire parrot veered sharply to avoid a volley of dry pods; a little later a scarlet fantail had only to dip a little to catch a plump berry in its beak. They nodded appreciatively and gave the shrub a wide berth.

This time out they met a few others with errands in the Wild. A leathery old herb-gatherer told them of a section of trail best avoided around midday, as dust-snakes had taken to basking there. Another time three forms shrouded in grey robes gave courteous nods on approach, then stood by the trail, hands hidden in sleeves, as they passed. Chrys caught a whiff of spice and some other scent – wet fur? - as she passed. The party kept wary eyes on the three, but they stood motionless until all were well past, then moved on and away.

“Were those were-beings of some sort?” asked Cardnial later.

Doryid shrugged. “Maybe, but being were is not a crime in the Haghar lands or in ours. My great-grandfather was a were-badger.The family reckoned it was a great saving on food, and he made a good living in the truffle business.”

Kosohona and Aitonala chimed in with stories of were-beings they had known or heard of: were-owls, were-seals, were-otters and a reclusive family who were said to be that rarest of were-being, were-humans.

“How does that work?” queried a sceptical Cardnial. “They turn from humans into what? Other humans? At the full moon?”

Kosohona sighed. “The full moon thing is a myth. I’ve seen were change in broad daylight, or night, and any time of the month. As for were-humans, they can take on the shape of any animal with fur and around the same size as a human. So they can be a small bear, or a seal, but not a tree-squid or an owl. Of course, they can alter their human selves to anything they desire, although I was told they have to stay female to carry a child until it is born. Anyway, they are very rare. I’ve never met one, nor met anyone who has.”

“How would you know?” put in Aitonala. “Unless they changed in front of you, they would just be someone you knew. Maybe several someones. It would be great to have a were-human lover,” she added. “So long as they were not wrapped up in themselves, as so many people with great powers tend to be.”

Kosohona made a face. “You would think of that.”

Aitonala laughed. “If I have known a were-human, they declined to accommodate my fantasies. We will need another method of detection.”

Talk turned often to the tactics that might be most useful. Their briefing had warned that the Brahnak group included at least one magician, as well as several crafters of advanced degree. Fearless Pride himself was noted as a Senior of the Pilgrims of Virtue and so was likely to be a dangerous fighter with considerable command of craft.

They had each invested some part of their earnings in better gear. Doryid had bought a Comfort Bag, claiming that to be well-rested and clean each morning was a great advantage. More practically, he and several others had purchased Absorbent Tears, which offered some protection against malevolent magic. Chrysanthemum, Grymwer and Cardnial all carried a fresh supply of virgin steel daggers. Blades had been honed, quivers refilled, armour cleaned and repaired, shields replaced. Each evening the three magicians rehearsed spells, each morning the crafters practised with the weapons that were the focus of their magic, Aitonala with her dagger, Kosohona and Doryid with their swords. Rakt sparred with anyone available, improving his skills with sword, spear and dagger.

They debated whether one of the magicians should fly up and survey the land from above, but decided that this carried risks of its own. A flying person was easily spotted and was vulnerable to spells, if not to arrow fire. Rakt asked if an invisibility spell would negate this difficulty. Cardnial explained that while it could, attempts to use flight and invisibility at the same time led to a conflict which negated one or both and sometime paralysed the magician as well. Rakt grumbled that magic was not nearly as useful as it ought to be.

Some days later they reached the region where they were most likely to see the Brahnak troop. Extra caution was in order. Kosohona or Doryid scouted well ahead, carefully scrutinising open areas, sometimes climbing above the trail to look over the country ahead. As they climbed higher, towards the ridges above Eel Ford, vegetation became sparser, the country drier, more open and rock-strewn. At last they reached the ridge overlooking the last stretch before the descent to the ford. Here the path wound along a shallow valley, little more than a dip, with a small but thick patch of forest to the right, rough grass dotted with rocks rising to a low crest to the left. Rakt, Doryid and Kosohona paused to confer.

“As I recall, another hour’s walk brings us to that short rise, and then it’s steep downhill all the way to the ford. If the Brahnaks have reached the ford, there should be some sign near the river, and we’ll be above them. Or we might see them on the trail opposite – it clings to the cliff for some way,” Doryid said.

“What if they have not reached the ford?” asked Kosohona. “It’s the only crossing unless they went north around Zroón, but that would take much longer. I was always told that was bad country.”

Rakt considered. “If they are at the ford, we have the advantage, and more so if they do not know they are pursued. If they are across, we go on as we are. If they are on this side, then the places to watch are the forest and the heights to the left. They could of course be some distance away, but we were told they were making for parts well to the west and this is their only feasible route. I think we take this next stretch extra-cautiously, check out the trail down to the ford and the climb beyond, then get across as fast as possible. This time we’ll have meat ready and not go cooking grannies.”

Doryid and Kosohona nodded agreement. They filled the others in, sorted their best order of march, swigged water and ate what snacks were to hand, settled their packs and set out.

* * * *

Fearless Pride checked that the bonds of their captive were not so tight as to cut circulation but still secure and refastened her gag after giving her a drink. Then, crouching low, he climbed back to where his deputy Faithful Hand lay watching the trail on the far side of the ridge. Both men were helmet-less, lest the glint of sun on metal gave them away. Fearless Pride glanced to his right, where the rest of his band were stationed along the crest, then to his left, where the magician Goan lay hidden on a small height. The trail below was empty, but Shining Excellence had passed the word that he had seen movement a little way to the south. The band had waited here since yesterday, awaiting a report from the far side of the river. Fearless Pride twitched angrily. He did not trust spies, and he was irked that all reports had to go via Paghin Paail.

Still, orders were orders, and they could not afford to have their presence reported. They had seen no human other than the captive since leaving the coast, but for the next stretch they would have to stick to the trail. Anyone they met would have to be dealt with before they could flee, a difficult proposition if any numbers were involved. Better to cross the ford and make the climb beyond reasonably sure the trail was clear. Of course, if Shining Excellence was right, there were people behind them. They too would have to be dealt with in a way that left no survivors. People vanished in the Wild all the time; these would just be more who had gone out and never returned. Two quick volleys and a tight charge, that was the way.

Fearless Pride thought of the prisoner. She claimed to be a member of an order that protected women, an order made up only of women. No such an order was needed when the Pilgrims of Virtue stood ready to protect all alike. She said she was looking for some slavers, and demanded to be set free. She had threatened Fearless Pride with the wrath of her order, as if he feared a bunch of women. Surely she was not out here alone, so perhaps her party was following? He had kept her as a potential hostage, but if they disposed of her party then there was no need to keep her.

Fearless Pride thought some more about the hostage. The members of his own order, the Pilgrims of Virtue, were all (he had no doubt) dedicated, pious and chaste. They would not harbour impure thoughts. Of the two members of the Seekers After Virtue he was less certain. One of them had let his hands linger on the captive when removing her weapons. He would report this on their return. A week in the cells would help the erring member to right conduct, along with some whipping. Definitely some whipping. Still, his thoughts went on, he could not wholly blame young Whitehound. The woman had a pretty face, and her clothing did nothing to hide the curves of her body. His mind lingered on the curves before he wrenched it away. Fearless Pride closed his eyes and mentally scourged himself for twenty breaths. The thought that he should report himself briefly crossed his mind before he dismissed it. Was he not a Senior? But certainly Whitehound should be reported.

Some forty paces to his right, Never Tempted was also thinking about curves. He thought of the prisoner, and then of other curves glimpsed in the streets of Paghin Paail. He was stationed at the end of the line, where a kink in the ridge line allowed a long view to the south. Never Tempted peered at the distant trees, and wondered if perhaps other women would fall into their hands. He might touch them. He had touched a woman once, and no-one had found out. It was much better than what went on in the novices’ dorm. Never Tempted recalled that encounter and pressed his body to the earth. His state of mind was such that he did not consciously notice that the earth yielded under him, shaping itself to encourage his desires. Nor did he notice the insubstantial black tendrils that crept about his flesh, feeding his fantasies.

Never Tempted focused on the trees. There, a line of figures emerging into the open. He strained his eyes, while wriggling his pelvis deeper into the ground. He was sure at least two, maybe more, were female. He distantly registered a low call from Shining Excellence to his left, and the clink and rattle of weapons being readied. All his attention was on the figures coming closer. He was now sure that three were women. One was short, full-figured; another was slim in dark leather, a third was tall, striding along with strung bow held loose. Never Tempted was so entranced with the possibilities that he scarcely felt the moment when he slid to the back of his own mind. A flood of possessive desire left room for only a slightly bewildered elation as his body rose and launched itself down the slope with a cry of “I’m coming, my treasures!”

* * * *

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The party stared a moment, startled, as a form in a white surcoat plunged down the slope towards them, calling out. Doryid, well-taught, took only a second to look away and catch movement along the rise. His cry of “’ware ambush, take cover” sent people diving for the nearest rock or shrub. Arrows from above struck into the dirt, then more white-clad figures emerged on to the slope in a ragged line.“Chrys, Cardnial, watch for the magician,” called Rakt. He stepped out, ignoring two arrows that hissed past, took deliberate careful aim and sent a crossbow bolt into one of the oncoming figures. It fell and he stepped back to re-span his weapon. Doryid was equally cool, but his shafts glanced off breastplates or struck raised shields. Kosohona got off two arrows before shifting her attention to the first Brahnak. As she and Aitonala watched, the knight tried to disrobe while running downhill, fell, picked himself up uninjured and paused in exasperation to rip his lower garments apart. Metal rings parted like cloth, a broad belt was torn in two and discarded, leather breeches shredded. The run then resumed, along with shouts of “I am ready for you! For all of you! My children will be strong and cunning.”

The knight reached the bottom of the slope and veered towards Aitonala, shouting “You’re for later, after the others! But I’ll be back,” to Kosohona. She drew her bow and sent an arrow through the knight’s lower body. Never Tempted looked down at the arrowhead jutting from his abdomen, muttered “That complicates things” and ran with open arms towards Aitonala. She waited until he was within a few paces before putting a dart into his eye, then leapt forward to cut his throat. The body fell, thrashed for a time and was then still. A dark mist flowed out into the soil and vanished.

“I think he was possessed,” called Kosohona.

“I’m sure he was, and I have Spirit Repellent everywhere it might get in,” Aitonala said “Look to your left”. Kosohona wheeled, picked out another Brahnak and sent an arrow that pinged off a helmet and sent him staggering. Before he could quite recover, Doryid rushed him. They met shield to shield, the knight stumbled, an overhand jab opened his face, another push sent him backwards and a flurry of sword blows left Doryid with a nicked arm and the knight on the ground.

Rakt spared a quick glance around the field. Three of the Brahnaks were down, two closing on himself and Grymwer, the last turning towards Doryid. He had no worries about that outcome, as Kosohona and Aitonala were moving up. He squeezed off a last shot, cursed as it missed, brought his shield around and his sword up. The leading Brahnak was on him like a storm, raining heavy blows that bit into his shield and smashed his sword aside. He landed some shrewd cuts himself, but the other seemed not to feel wounds. Rakt fell back, warding off blows as best he could, hoping to last until help arrived.

As the other Brahnak closed, Grymwer spoke a spell and tossed a dagger into the air. It swooped in unerringly, only to fall to the ground as the knight raised his mace. He laughed, flexed fingers and uttered a piercing scream, a magic made to freeze hearers rigid. Grymwer’s Absorbent Tear shattered and he snatched up his halberd. The Brahnak danced forward, confident against the unarmoured Grymwer. Grymwer snarled and brought his halberd around and forward in a thrust that halted the Brahnak. A sweep of the mace sought to bat aside the pole-arm, but Grymwer pulled it back sharply, then around and down in a heavy chop that pierced the up-flung shield and broke the arm beneath. Grymwer wrenched it free, sending his opponent staggering, then thrust with all his considerable strength. The heavy lance-head burst through mail rings to open a great wound in the belly. The mace dropped from the Brahnak’s hand as he folded forward and a last blow sent him into the dark.

Grymwer patted his grandmother’s weapon fondly and silently thanked the undermen who had taught him how to use it. Yet a look around showed Rakt in desperate straits, dodging around boulders, his shield riven and armour rent. His opponent was, by his badges, the leader of the troop. He had cast aside his shield to wield his sword two-handed and bounded bellowing after Rakt. Grymwer started forward when a voice came from behind.

“That one’s ours. Ik, take him down.” Grymwer turned, startled, to see a tall woman, armed and armoured, standing with a short leather-faced woman in jacket and breeches.

“First, let’s get his attention.” The short woman uttered a spell. The air shimmered above the Brahnak as arcane force sheared the crest from his helmet and dented the sturdy metal. The Brahnak lurched but did not fall. Rakt used the momentary respite to put a large rock between himself and his foe. The Brahnak circled left, then right, screamed with rage and leapt up to stand on the rock, sword held high.

“Perfect” said the woman and put a crossbow bolt into his arm. Ik had brought out a long wooden spoon and used this to flick a dark ball which arced through the air to hit and stick to his thigh. The Brahnak swivelled to face the source of these attacks, screamed again and came for them.

“Now run, said the woman and both took off sprinting. Grymwer took one look at the approaching maniac and bolted. He hurdled a bush, dodged left, nearly tripped on a loose stone. The noise told him his enemy was close behind. He ran, legs pumping, expecting every moment to feel a blade in his spine. A small explosion came from behind him but he ran on, then realised the pursuing footfalls had stopped. He risked a glance behind, slowed, turned to see his nemesis hopping determinedly after him, one leg dangling by a thread of flesh and shattered bone. Three hops and then blood loss and wounds finally overcome the sustaining magic and the leader fell. As Grymwer came forward, halberd raised, he had just the strength to snarl defiance and half lift his blade. Grymwer brought the axe-head down and it was over.

* * * *

Grymwer leaned panting on the wooden shaft of his weapon. Rakt approached, throwing aside a drained vial.

“Fast Healing?”

“Yes. It can give me feathers down my back for all I care, because I was never this close to death before.”

“What about the others? And where did that woman come from?”

“Here they come now.” Grymwer looked around to see Kosohona, Doryid and Aitonala limping towards them. All had cuts and bruises and Kosohona flexed swollen fingers. He turned his head to see the woman and her companion picking their way across the field.

“Allow me to introduce ourselves. I’m Moira, Field-Mistress of the Guardian Avengers, and this is Ik, a colleague and magician. Up yonder is Kubilan, another colleague and also a magician. I am here in search of my trainee. I have reason to believe that these whitecoats took her.”

Rakt seated himself on a rock and looked up at the circling dot that he presumed was Kubilan. He gestured around. “If so, my lady, it will be hard to question them, as there seem to be none alive. We do thank you for your aid,” he added.

Moira gave a slight bow. “I hope that Kubilan will have news. Ah, she seems to have company.”

They looked up to see Cardnial and Chrys skimming through the air. They slowed, landed, looked around.

“Fifty names! What a mess! Is everyone alright?” burst from Chrys.

“All alive. Thanks in some part to the lady Moira here and her colleague Ik. What kept you busy?”

“Their magician. He took to the air, so we went after him. Good thing, too. He threw a spell that blew apart Cardnial’s Invisible Defence and another that I am pretty sure would have strangled me if it had taken. That and he threw a few Winged Daggers. Between the two of us we were able to keep him off your backs, and then he fled.”

“Possibly because he spotted Kubilan,” interjected Moira. “two he could just cope with, three is too great odds.”

Chrys looked around. “Kubilan?”

“Coming in low along the ridge, over there,” Moira pointed.

Kosohona had hobbled over to the dead leader. “By his shoulder-knot, braid and badges, a Senior of the Pilgrims of Virtue. This must be Fearless Pride himself.” She stooped, picked up the bloody sword, wiped it on the dead man’s coat, examined the weapon.

“This is a Named Blade. The flat-faces will trade twenty of our people for this.”

Moira waved a hand. “We claim no share of the booty.”

Rakt pulled himself to his feet. “We’ll put a camp together up the valley. You are welcome to join us. Chrys, Cardnial, perhaps you could gather up anything of immediate interest? I need to rest, preferably away from the flies.”

“I’ll bring the packs over,” offered Aitonala. They had set about their tasks when Moira gave a cry. Chrys looked up to see a short, plump woman descending the slope, one arm around a younger woman.

“Lecki!” Moira ran forward, embraced the young woman, squeezed the other’s hand and led them down. Lecki gazed open-mouthed at the human wreckage strewn about, the flies hovering over patches of drying blood, the shattered gear lying here and there, while Moira bombarded her with anxious questions.

“Are you alright? Did they maltreat you? How long were you in their hands? How did they capture you?”

Lecki made some vague noises and then threw up.

* * * *

They patched together a camp some little way away, under the shade of a lone twisted fig. With drink and rest came calm restored. They bound two of Kosohona’s fingers together and rubbed ointment on her bruises. She declined to use Fast Healing. Aitonala and Doryid summoned the strength to perform minor rituals of healing on themselves, and Kubilan cast the Beneficent Touch on Rakt. Lecki was unharmed other than minor chafing on the wrists.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never seen a real fight before. I thought it would be like a practice bout. Besides, the one with his head split open was kind to me. He was called Faithful Hand. The leader was cold, and the one called Never Tempted was creepy. Always staring.” Kubilan put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug.“It’s over now, lovey.”

“We would have been in trouble if that first one had not broken cover,” said Rakt. “That was strange.”

“From what Kosohona and Aitonala saw, my guess would be possession by an earth spirit,” said Cardnial. “But I thought Brahnak knights were supposed to be pure and chaste. Earth spirits shun virgins.”

“If he was a virgin he was certainly eager not to stay one,” observed Aitonala. “He did steer around you.” She quirked an eyebrow at Kosohona.

“So he did, but he went straight for you,” retorted Kosohona.

“So we were lucky a Brahnak broke his vows, and they were unlucky,” put in Doryid. Then, changing the subject, “What did we find?”

“A Named Blade, a mace that Grymwer thinks is an Item, four really nice helmet glowstones (there would have been six except for Grymwer), a handful of coins, two things that look like buttons. That’s on a quick look. We’ll need to run a detection spell. They also had a lot of good trail food and some heat-sticks, so we’ll eat better,” reported Chrys.

“Myself and my order require that we give the dead decent burial,” said Moira. “We’ll stay here the night and help you with that tomorrow.”

By the next afternoon the Brahnaks had all been interred under a stone cairn on the ridge. “Pity none of us is a mason,” observed Rakt as he lifted one of the stones to the top of the pile. “Although I have trouble thinking of a suitable inscription.”

“Since we do not want to advertise the contents, something like ‘Erected to mark an encounter with a Spirit of Earth’,” suggested Chrys. “After all, Never Tempted certainly met one closely.” She was using a spell to heft substantial rocks on to the cairn, guiding them with a pointing finger.

“If he were not a Brahnak and a creep, I would feel sorry for him,” remarked Aitonala. “Or maybe not. Presumably his last minutes were really thrilling, which was what he wanted most.”

“There are some dwarves across the river,” said Kubilan. She had just completed a brief reconnaissance and kept the spell active, so was sitting on air knitting. It was, she said, easier on the buttocks than stone while giving the legs a rest. “They would make you a fine marker. For a price, of course.”

“What are they up to?” asked Rakt.

“The usual – delving into the mountain. Oh, and they have repaired the path and built a toll-gate right across it.”“Given how little money we found, Fearless Pride would have been unable to pay the toll. It would have been an ignominious end to his expedition,” said Aitonala. “Less bloody, though.”

“At least until he reported to Paghin Paail,” added Doryid, somewhat sourly. “He could have expected at least three months on bread and water, with whippings daily.” He heaved a large rock into place and dusted his hands. “That should do it.”

“It’s a bit late to ask, but we do have all their names and so on?” asked Cardnial, coming up with a last stone.

“We do. Lecki kept her scout’s training in mind, and noted their names, ranks and orders. I’m proud of that girl,” answered Kubilan. “Ah, well, time to put the feet on the ground. Moira is still bent on those slavers.” She put away her knitting, lowered her legs and walked briskly away down the slope.