Mages path 3, p.11
Mage's Path 3, page 11
“Exactly!” Melinda grinned back at him. “We may not be able to use your summoned monsters as beasts of burden any more, but we can still use them for their intended function—as combat specialists for defense, and for dungeon creation.”
“You’re right,” Jack sighed. “But I must say I was really enjoying being able to fly about on ice wraiths.”
“What will we do now?” Melinda asked. “We can hardly walk the length and breadth of the Noonlands looking for dungeons to reactivate. It would take forever.”
Jack thought for a moment. “Let’s keep moving,” he said, “and think about it as we walk.”
He reabsorbed the rock troll and they set off at a brisk pace along the road. Here, it was long and straight, stretching off into the distance. The landscape around them was gentle and fairly wild, but the road was well-made and seemed like it would be well-trodden in the summer months. Their boots clicked satisfyingly on the cobbles as they walked in silence.
Jack took the map from his pack and looked at it while they walked. “Here,” he said, “there’s a town not too far away. We’ll have to go off the road and head north for a few miles, but with a bit of luck we’ll be able to buy horses.”
Melinda looked doubtful. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “If I know anything about villagers in these parts, they’ll be unlikely to want to sell horses to strangers. They’ll need all their horses and won’t have much chance to get new ones before the springtime. But let’s go anyway. Perhaps there will be an inn there where we can spend the night out of the cold at least.”
Jack readily agreed to that. The nights had been freezing recently, and they had both been forced to spend a lot of concentration on making their Internal Fire magic move to keep themselves warm. A hot meal at an inn would be more than welcome.
They walked on in silence, making a good pace and marching in step to keep their spirits up. After a while, Melinda began to sing a walking song that she knew from her childhood, and Jack was pleased to discover that he knew the words as well. They marched along, singing together and laughing when they stumbled over the words.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, they found the right turn off the main road that the map said led to a small, unnamed village. They walked for a mile along the track, climbing steadily into a range of low, rolling hills.
Coming round a bend, they saw the lights of the village in a dell up ahead. The night was gathering quickly, and the lights were a welcome sight. They could smell woodsmoke and cooking on the air, and they both began to hurry forward.
“Halt!” a voice cried suddenly, and they both pulled up short. From a cluster of boulders on one side of the road, a group of men with crossbows had emerged. At first glance, Jack took them for guardsmen, but a closer inspection showed that they were townsmen dressed in ragged bits and pieces of armor. They held their crossbows inexpertly, and several of them looked scared.
Jack held up both his hands and Melinda did the same. As he held his hands up and looked at the folk, Jack felt Melinda reaching out subtly toward the townsfolk, calming them with the insidious influence of her warlock magic.
“Friends,” Jack said. “We mean no harm. We are traveling west and are seeking a room in the inn for the night.”
They deliberated in hushed tones, before two of them stepped forward. They were older than the rest, and their armor was of higher quality. They were a man and a woman, both in their early forties with grizzled hair and suspicious faces. Ex-soldiers, Jack guessed, using their experience of combat to lead the townsfolk in defense against whatever threat this village was facing.
The woman held out a hand, palm downward, and her fellows lowered their weapons.
“You must forgive us,” she said. “But something has been killing our sheep. Bandits, we thought, but now we’re not so sure.”
“Whatever it is,” put in the man, “it killed one of the villagers three nights ago. We’ve been on our guard, and we don’t take kindly to strangers all at once. So why don’t you explain to us what your business is on the road in winter.”
“We are traveling west on urgent business from one of the guilds at Trader’s Crossing,” Jack improvised. It was not quite the truth, but it was close enough that he didn’t feel bad about it. “We lost our mounts, and we are seeking to buy horses if there are any for sale. If not, we just hoped for a bowl of something hot and a bed under a roof for a night.”
“Aye,” said the man, “well, a room for the night should be easy enough, but I’m not so sure about the horses. Anyway, Thomas here will take you back to the village. Go quickly, and look up the inn in the market square. You’ll get a room and a meal there if nothing else.”
With that, the folk let them past and Thomas, a young lad of no more than fifteen, accompanied them down the road.
“It’s been hard times here,” the lad said as they approached the village. “And we’re wary of strangers.”
“It sounds frightening for everyone,” Jack said, understandingly. “Your sheep have been vanishing?”
“Oh, aye, first they were disappearing and we thought it was just a wolf or a bear nearby. But then we found one of them, and it had been torn apart!” The lad shuddered. “No wolf did that—wolves will take a sheep, but they won’t do it like that. Destroyed, it was, bits scattered everywhere. And then old Maro the tanner, we found him dead at the outskirts of the village—dead of fright, he was, white as a sheet, but his body had not been touched, thank the gods. And nearby him there were tracks, tracks like you’ve never seen. Huge, like a bear but bigger. I don’t know what it is, friends, but we’ve sent a message to the guard at Coomb, the nearest big town, and I’ll be very glad when they send some soldiers to help us out with it.”
Jack glanced at Melinda and met her eyes. “Well, Thomas,” he said. “My friend and I are no strangers to a fight. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll be able to help you out with your problem.”
“Oh, would you?” the lad said, his face shining. “It’ll be weeks before the guard comes, and everyone in the village is scared.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” Jack said with a smile.
Thomas took them to what passed for the inn. It was a thatched, single-storied building with one large central room, and three small rooms in the loft space under the roof. It was smokey and very rustic, but it was clean and there was a pot of stew on. The innkeeper, a fat, jovial woman, was more than happy to welcome them.
“Been long enough since we had travelers this way!” she exclaimed as she served them, before launching into a long explanation about the fearsome terror that haunted the village, stealing sheep and scaring old Maro to death. They learned nothing new, but the more Jack listened the more he became resolved that he would help these villagers out with their problem.
The food was good—a rich stew of mutton, thick with potatoes, onions, and greens, and with the meat cooked so tender that it melted in the mouth. There was good bread, too—not quite as good as Ivan’s baking, but well on the way. The meal was very welcome—their rations had been running low lately, and Jack decided he would stock up on provisions before they left this village.
“I’ll show you up to your room,” the woman said, and led them up a narrow wooden stair to the hallway that opened into the little rooms under the thatch. They were surprisingly roomy, considering the size of the building, and the woman showed them to the largest one. It filled most of the space above the downstairs dining room, and was warmed by the brick chimney of the fire below.
“No candles,” the woman said. “I can’t have them below the thatch like this—too much risk of fire. I’m afraid it’s dark, but the light shines through the thatch in the morning. Goodnight!”
With that, she was off, leaving Melinda and Jack in the small, warm, dark room under the roof.
Jack grinned in the dark. “No candles,” he said, “but what about Guiding Light?”
He lifted his hand, but Melinda stopped him. “Don’t,” she said. “What about not using magic for mundane purposes? We can find our way to the bed in the dark.”
Something in her voice made Jack’s heart do a somersault in his chest. She was right, of course, and he lowered his hand. In the gloom, they could make out the shape of a single, large bed in the middle of the room.
Just one bed. They had gotten used to sleeping near one another for warmth in the wild, but this was somehow different.
There was a rustling of fabric as Melinda removed her outer garments and then a thump as she dropped her boots to the floor.
“What are you waiting for?” she said, sounding a little shy but patting the bed next to her.
“I’m not sure,” Jack laughed, then came forward. He took off his cloak and outer clothes, leaving just his leggings and shirt on as he crawled into the bed next to Melinda. There was a momentary awkward pause, then she cuddled into the crook of his arm with a satisfied noise and began to breathe slowly and deeply.
Jack put his arm around her shoulders and relaxed. As he felt her drift off to sleep beside him, he smiled up into the darkness. He did not know what was going to happen with him and Melinda in the long term, but for now, this was enough.
Enjoying the comfort of the bed and the warm pressure of Melinda’s sleeping head against his shoulder, he drifted into sleep.
Chapter 8
They woke late, the sunlight streaming through the thatch and the sound of the innkeeper clanking about in the hall below them rousing them from sleep. The room was revealed in its entirety now, and there was little enough to see. A wash-bucket of cold water stood in one corner. This, the bed, and their own gear stacked near the bed made up the entirety of the room’s contents.
Jack had expected things to feel a little awkward after sleeping near each other, but they were not. Melinda got up and stretched, then took a brush from her pack and began to fix her hair. Jack caught himself admiring her form through her shapeless green shirt and leggings, and looked away.
He stood and got himself dressed. As he was securing the clasp on his belt, he heard Melinda say, “Hey Jack, think fast!”
He whirled, just in time to see her hairbrush flying through the air toward him. He caught it neatly, and she pointed at his head. “Sort your hair out,” she said. “You look like a haystack.”
He grinned and did as she suggested.
The matronly innkeeper served them eggs and toasted bread for their breakfast, then recommended that they go to the smith’s house to find out about the terror that was plaguing the village.
“His name’s Carson,” the innkeeper said, “and he’s in charge of the guard and is something of a leader to the village these days. You’ll get all the information you need from him.”
They thanked the woman, paid her, and set out in search of Carson the smith. It didn’t take them long to find him.
“Look, there,” Jack said. “That’s a smith’s house if ever I saw one.” Jack had been raised by a blacksmith, and he quickly recognized the large anvil that stood outside, as well as the distinctive smell of the forge that emanated from the open door.
Villagers greeted them as they traversed the square. “Looks like news of our arrival has spread fast,” Jack said in a low voice.
Melinda nodded. “See how many other buildings there used to be around here?” she said, pointing to a number of ruinous dwellings that clustered toward the back of the main body of the village. “It looks as if at some point there were a great many more people living here than there are now. I wonder what happened?”
They approached the smith’s house. The door to the forge stood open. It was wide enough to fit a cart through, and Jack knocked on the doorframe and called out loudly to see if anyone was about.
“One moment!” a voice said from the dimness, and a familiar figure came out of the gloom. It was the man who had led the guard party the night before.
He was dressed in the stained and burned leather apron of a smith, and he was wiping his grimy hands on a rag as he came out into the sunlight.
“Carson?” Jack asked, and the man smiled.
“That’s me,” he said. “I guess Esmerelda at the inn told you where to find me? My wife Deera is out with the patrols—you met her last night—but I guess you want to hear more about this terror that seems to be lurking near the village?”
“That’s right,” Jack said. “I guess young Thomas told you that we hoped to be able to help you out with that?”
“He did,” the smith said. “And we appreciate it very much. But I warn you I’m not going to be able to send any folk out to help you with it. Begging your pardon, but I’m not willing to risk my own folk. I’d rather wait until the guard comes here, but if you want to seek it out on your own, be my guest, and more than welcome.”
Jack smiled. “I completely understand,” he said smoothly. “In fact, I was going to suggest that it would be better for us if you and your folk left us to it.”
“Ah, well,” the man said, “I don’t feel so bad about leaving you to get on with it now. You must have seen a few things in your time not to be phased by this monster! Good for you!”
His eyes twinkled. When Jack didn’t reply, Carson shrugged his shoulders and continued speaking. “Go up out of the village behind the house here and you’ll find your way up the back road into the hills,” he said. “It’s from the grazing lands up there that all the sheep have gone missing, and it’s on that back road that we found poor old Maro, scared to death.”
“What’s it like up there?” Jack asked. “Is it rough ground? Any woods or caves? How about old ruins, anything like that up there where a monster could hide?”
The man pondered Jack’s words for a moment. “Aye, there’s that kind of thing up there for sure,” he said. “The ground is rough, indeed, and not good for much except for grazing. There’s pockets of scrub woodland, but no larger trees. There are a few old ruins, but not much more than piles of broken stones these days. I’m afraid all the good stone was used to build our village long ago.”
“Anything else?”
“Well,” Carson said, “there is the blue sand cave…”
Jack nodded encouragingly.
“It’s about four miles off, near a distinctive pinnacle of rock that you can see from far off,” Carson said. “It used to be that people would go there to harvest a distinctive kind of blue sand that could be found there—it was good for making a very pretty blue glass that was sought after for jewelry. It’s said that in the old days, this village was well-known for the exports of blue glass, and was even referred to as ‘Blue Sand village.’ Nowadays it’s just called Sheepfold, for it’s been many years since we exported anything other than wool.”
“We noticed you have a lot of abandoned houses,” Melinda said. “I guess they must be from the days when the village was more prosperous. But why did you stop making the glass?”
“The sand ran out,” Carson said with a shrug. “They dug and mined it for many years, and eventually there was no more to be had, or at least not enough to support the industry. When I was a lad, there was still some being exported, but it stopped not long after that Few here remember the industry at its peak.”
“Have you ever been up to the cave?” Jack asked.
“There’s nothing much there. The better grazing land is up on the higher ground, and no one has a reason to go up there anymore.”
Jack stretched and glanced up at the sky. “Well,” he said, “the day is passing. Melinda and I will go and have a look around and see what we can see.”
“Oh, one thing,” he said as he was about to leave. “Has anything else strange happened apart from the death of the sheep and of Maro?”
“Hmmm, well, there was old Silas the bard, Silas the singer, we called him, but that was over a year ago.”
“Oh, yes?” Melinda said. “What happened with him?”
“Disappeared,” Carson said with a shrug. Just vanished one night and no one saw him again. He was always a strange one, the way bards often are, and he used to go wandering for a week or two at a time fairly often. Queer thing about that though was that one of the shepherds found his harp a week later. No one’s seen him since.”
“And where was his harp found?” Jack asked, thinking that he already knew the answer.
“Oh, hm…” Carson said, scratching his chin. “Now that you mention it, the shepherd found it near the start of the old road to the blue sand cave…”
Only a few minutes later, Melinda and Jack were on the road behind the village, climbing up into the hills.
“You think the cave is the den of whatever’s causing the problem, don’t you?” Melinda asked Jack.
“I do,” Jack agreed, “and I’m glad we’re here to help. Something makes me think that there’s more to this than a wild animal, or even some natural monster.”
“Go on,” she urged. “What makes you say that?”
“What would it be,” he said. “A giant spider? Some kind of goblin? Any naturally-occurring monster might take a sheep or two, but I can’t see it frightening a man to death, can you? Also… I don’t know… I just feel it, Melinda. Does that make sense?”
“Sure,” she said after thinking about it for a moment. “I feel it too, thought I didn’t want to admit it to myself, if I’m being completely honest. It feels… wrong, somehow. As if there’s something evil up in these hills.”
“I’ve been scanning for magic influences, and I can’t find any nearby,” Jack added. “I don’t think this time that we’re going to encounter rogue mages or anything like that. I don’t think the feeling of threat is a spell put down to trick us. I think it’s real.”
Melinda shivered and drew her cloak closer around herself. Jack glanced up at the sky. They had gained more height because the path climbed steeply, and even as they finished speaking they came out from between two boulders and saw the land spread out all around them. They were on a high, rough plateau, with the snow-capped mountains off to the north and the milder green lands hidden in soft mist to the south.
