The mage and the warrior rode through the silent hills. The light of the westering sun became a sullen fire, and shadows lengthened, shrouding vales in the blue of an early twilight.
This is part two of an ongoing series. Read part one here.
The mage and the warrior rode through the silent hills. The light of the westering sun became a sullen fire, and shadows lengthened, shrouding vales in the blue of an early twilight. Comillas kept the keys of his spells fixed firmly in his mind, meditating on each in turn as they rode. Lofric kept his mind on the trail, sometimes leaning in the saddle to study tracks, sometimes dismounting completely for a closer look. As the miles passed, the yellow-haired warrior’s face soured to a grim unease.
“What’s wrong?” Comillas asked.
“They know we’re after them.”
“Is that surprising?”
Lofric shook his head and turned his mount down a rocky path to the dark between the hills. “They took that girl as a hostage to get away. They’re away. Why not leave the girl?”
“Why should they think we’ll stop chasing just because we got her back?”
“Then why keep her?”
Comillas rode in silence for a time, studying his companion’s back. They had been traveling together for a while now, long enough that he didn’t often think of Lofric’s past. He had one, though. Several years of travel and hard fighting before the two of them had met. Some of that, he knew, had been further west. Some probably involved goblins.
“Alright. Why keep her?”
“Sometimes, out in their own country, they take their time with captives. Afterwards, they leave them where their people will find them. As a message.”
The flint-eyed fighter said nothing more. Comillas did not need him to. If that war party got enough of a lead on them, if they had enough time to themselves… His heart ached for that poor girl.
They kept riding. Miles passed and the hills began to spread apart. They were long ridges now, dusty and steep-sided. The valleys broadened, turning flat and grassy, transforming the Regenwald hill country into an open plain. The sun sank further, and lit the grass a bloody red. Comillas turned his eyes from the dark north where their path lay to watch the fiery orb lean down and touch the horizon. A dark plume rose and caught its light, just north of west.
“That’s the rest of the tribe, isn’t it?”
Lofric replied with a noncommittal grunt.
“Goblin war parties never come this far west on their own. These were scouts for a whole tribe, migrating.”
Lofric drew his horse up by a patch of bare dirt in the sea of grass. He dismounted and peered at the spoor. With the sun this low, even tufts of grass cast long shadows over the ground. Lofric cursed and pulled out flint and steel.
“Wait,” Comillas said. He found a simple key in his mind, a mental pattern he could charge with will to cast a weak spell. Dismounting, he reached out to tap Lofric’s gloved hand with his finger. The glove flared with a weak but steady light.
The fighter nodded his thanks and went back to studying the trail under the eldritch glow.
“They split up,” he said, standing to point west, towards the plume of dust. “One rider went that way, but the rest kept going.”
Straining, Comillas thought he saw a distant speck moving towards the plume. Possibly. He could see for miles now over the flat terrain, but it still could have been just the shade cast by a boulder.
“The girl is with the main group?”
“Yes.”
“They’re leading us away from the tribe?”
“Probably. What I want to know is, why did they send someone back?”
“They were scouts, maybe they sent him back to report.”
“Maybe, or maybe they want to invite a few more friends to the party.”
It was the mage’s turn to curse. Goblins were small, and not very strong, but even seasoned fighters could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Just following the one small war party was dangerous for the two of them. His spells could do plenty of damage, sure, but only if he got them off before an arrow found his throat.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Lofric continued. “Have you asked yourself why there’s all this grass out here, but no cattle? What could keep a Regenwald halfling from grazing a place like this?”
“Do you know?”
“I’ve heard stories. Man-eaters that come out at night. Big, four-legged things like lions. I thought maybe they were just stories, but stories wouldn’t keep a gold-hungry baron away from all this. And they say the den is somewhere north of here, around a high mesa, right where this war party is heading.”
Comillas turned to the north and scanned the darkening horizon. He felt his pace quicken, not with the mingled fear and excitement of a coming fight, but with the mindless terror of a prey animal. This country was so empty, and the steel and spellcraft of two lone sellswords seemed a pitiful thing next to whatever might stalk the night and claim the endless fields for its demesne.
But he thought of that girl, and his quaking will steadied and turned to iron.
“That girl’s father promised us passage west,” he said, mounting his leopard-spotted mare. “ That’s a lot of gold. You don’t expect that kind of pay from an easy job.”
Lofric’s face broke into a savage grin.
“Ventrasulf, mage! That’s why I like working with you.”
The fighter mounted his own horse, and the two of them rode off towards the dark. As the day died, Comillas prayed to whatever gods would listen that he would live to see the next.
The story continues in part three.
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