Hump woke sweating, his heart pounding. For a moment, he was back in the darkness of the gorger’s lair and fighting for his life, then his eyes settled on the campfire nearby. The light flickered across Celaine’s face as she quietly kept watch, seated up against a tree.

He lay back, resting his head against his pack, trying to catch his breath and regain control over his heart. The gorger was dead. It was just a bad dream. He was free.

As he calmed down, his fear turned to anger. He clenched his fists, furious at himself for letting his weakness get to him again. He thought he was past this. His mind—his wizard’s logic—was the thing he was confident in above all else. The thing he could count on to keep him alive. Yet it was failing him. Even now, his instincts screamed at him to run and hide, or to fight with every last drop of strength he had.

Just a dream, he told himself. Get over it. It happened, you lived, go back to sleep.

Of course, sleep was impossible. He was awake now, his body energised, adrenaline pumping through his system. Frustrated, he turned to the next best thing, envisioning the River and Waves as he so often had in the past. The meditative technique helped to bring clarity to his mind and calmness to his body, and the more he practiced, the more in tune with the world around him he felt. He could sense the essence in the air like a gentle breeze, and the essence of his dragon.

He hugged the egg close to him, warm within his oilwraps and cloak like a heated stone from the campfire. It gave him strength. When his mind felt clear he reached out for the creature, feeling its comforting touch in return like a warm wave through his body. That brief moment of contact was enough to soothe his soul. Egg bonding was a simple task to him now. He imagined its small form within, just as he had seen in Sir Isaac’s workshop at the academy. It was getting stronger now, he could sense it.

And he was getting stronger too. Bit by bit, he felt his control over his magic improving. It was so much easier than before, whether that was because of his own improvements, or the imprint of the dragon, he was not sure. A part of him wondered if perhaps it was a little of the gorger’s strength rubbed off on him. Whatever the case, there was no denying a change. He’d burned those bandits and felt little for their screams, but he should have, right? He shouldn’t be able to brush off causing so much pain to people, even if they had committed evil.

He had to beat these nightmares, and whatever else the gorger had done to him. If he didn’t, he might turn out just as bestial as the warlock woman. It wouldn’t take long after that for him to be just as dead either. A grim thought, and enough to see he remained awake till morning.

The next three days were long and tiresome. The prisoners gave them no trouble as they journeyed back to Milton. Hump supposed the god pillar descending on their camp had been enough to scare them into cooperation, no doubt fearing whichever level of hell they would find themselves in upon their death. More importantly though, Krioc had brought comfort for the good people that had been captured, even if it was unintentional. Though it wasn’t easy for them—the horror of their time as prisoners was clear in the occasional hollow stare when eating around the campfire, or the tears at night. It would take more than just the appearance of a god to recover from that. Hump understood that all too well.

Along the way, Hump and the others took their time interrogating their bandit prisoners for every bit of information they had. He made careful note of their comrades, particularly the few that had escaped. What they were doing. Where they were from. Who the warlock and the spearman were, and how they were known to them. Everything they could think of that might be useful. In truth, they didn’t know much. From the sounds of it, they really had just started off trying to get some food, but slowly, things became more serious. After the first death, the few that had tried to leave had been killed for it. They knew there was no backing out after that. Not unless they were to suffer the same tortured death. They were cruel, cowardly people.

He asked them about the black stone artifact that he’d found too, but none of them seemed to recognise it.

“What do you think it is?” Dylan asked afterward.

“Hard to say without being able to recognise the runes,” Hump said. “They remind me of Kassius’ formation though, don’t you think? Lots of straight, angular lines, and a general eerie feeling.”

“You think she’s related somehow?”

Hump shrugged. “Maybe. Or there could be some universal warlock language I’m unaware of. With any luck, Vivi will know more, or someone else in Sheercliff.”

They’d recovered the warlock’s spear and the martial’s sword, and Hump had been able to identify them both as iron ranked artifacts. Considering their wear, he didn’t expect more than a few gold coins for them, but it would be a nice bonus on top of their quest rewards.

They didn’t stay long in Milton. The guards took the prisoners in upon their arrival—it would be the local lords that decided their fate, though Hump expected it to be poor. The remaining supplies and the bandit encampment would be collected over the following days. The mayor thanked them fondly, rewarding them with the adventurers guild token that they needed and giving them a free night’s stay at the inn, food and drink included. Something Hump intended to make the most of.

“Well here’s to our first completed quest chain,” Hump said, raising a tankard.

Bud raised his own. “And to Dylan’s fifth blessing.”

“Thank you,” Dylan said, smiling. “I think we’ve all earned this. The quests may have been well within our capabilities, but we each performed exceptionally, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

“Where I’m from, any hunt where all return is a moment to celebrate,” Celaine said. “I’m glad to be here with you all.”

Hump grinned. The four of them clanked tankards and drag, then dug into a meal of salted pork and roast potatoes. They allowed themselves the evening to celebrate, and left a few hours after first light the next day.

It would take them just over a week to return, and every day of it dragged on. He was plagued by lack of sleep, the same nightmares coming to him each night, waking him to panicked sweats. If there was one thing that amused Hump most on their journey back to Sheercliff, it was Bud’s ever-growing realisation that travelling in winter was cold, painful, and above all else, boring. Hump had to admit, he was a little disappointed to see Bud’s childish delight at the idea of adventuring fading, replaced with the same bitterness all adventurers held toward winter and the suffering in the world. There was no more laughing about Hump’s desire for a hot meal and a hot bath now. On the days they found an inn to stay at, it was a battle for who got to go first.

They lacked the daylight hours now to make much progress, which left Hump with plenty of time to practice his spells. They were on the last leg of their journey when Hump finally did it.

With an explosion of essence, a handful of gravel shot off through the air, each piece swerving in its own arc toward his target. It hammered into the back of Bud’s chestplate, making louds pings as it bounced harmlessly off him.

It made him jump though, and the knight whirled to glare at him. “I thought we agreed you’d stop that!”

Hump smiled. “What’s the point in all that armour if you don’t get to use it?”

His spellbook shook.

Bud’s eyes went to it, raising an eyebrow. “Success?”

Hump took it from his belt, excited. They each gathered their horses around him as he opened it, ink coming together on the page in beautiful swirling loops, letters and runes all forming at once, shining with essence.

They each gathered their horses around as Hump took his spellbook from his belt.

Spellbook

Rock Missiles

Evocation | Battle Magic | Tier 2 | Range: Long

Description: Direct homing projectiles of stone at your target.

A month and a half of practice, and he’d finally done it. The Book of Infinite Pages had recorded his own version of the spell. Hump smiled down at it, proud of himself. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a better certification than that.

“How long did that take, six weeks?” Dylan asked.

Hump shrugged. “About that I think.”

Dylan whistled. “I think my master’s going to be impressed.”

“Not so much with me,” Bud grumbled. “I really need to hurry up and reach my third blessing.”

“It’ll come,” Dylan said. “You’re close. I can feel it.”

Bud hummed, but he didn’t sound convinced. He’d not mentioned it again since, but Hump knew the mistake with the bandits was eating away at him.

They were greeted by a mellowing sight the next day when they came across the peak of a shallow hill and saw Sheercliff in the distance. After just over a month, the refugees were still there, except now, it seemed they were here to stay. There were still many makeshift tents, however supplies had come in, and Countess Daston had clearly ensured they’d been made available. Stone works—both of the mundane, practitioner, and Chosen variety, had worked together to form large dormitories. The perfectly smooth stone was a clear sign that they had been created with magic. There were food stands set up now, the cook fires burning, and members of the clergy handing out food and tending the sick.

“It’s good to see some progress,” Bud said, relief in his voice.

Celaine urged her horse onward toward the inner city gates. “Seems you were right about Countess Daston. She’s trying to help.”

Bud smiled. “She’s a good woman. My mother never had a bad word to say about her.”

“Did she ever mention how well she pays?” Hump asked. “I’m expecting a good few coins for bringing back whatever the artifact we found was.”

Bud gave him a long stare then sighed. “Somehow, that didn’t come up.”

It was as they neared the city gates that they realised something was wrong. The guards were turning most people back, and the crowd had grown angry. Traders and their wagons were parked up along the roadside, blocking passage, and making life difficult. It was only their adventurers’ guild medallions that got them to the gates, and as they reached it, Hump became nervous.

Warriors clad in Lady Light’s colours stood guard, led by a Chosen captain, her sigil embroidered on their tabards. Not a single person got through without a thorough search, and Hump couldn’t help but remember the warlock artifact he had inside his robes as they stepped up.

The search passed without issue, until Bud raised his voice. “Did something happen, sister?” he asked the knight. “We’ve been away for a month on a quest chain. News hasn’t reached us.”

“It wouldn’t have, not yet at least,” she said. “It is a dark day for those of the light. A young priestess was found dead this morning, her eyes blackened and burnt, her blood drained, a cultist circle surrounding her. It happened in our city, brother.” Her chest was heaving. “Not a mile from our temple!”

Hump held his tongue until they were allowed through. “We need to speak with Countess Daston. I suspect our warlock encounter was no mere coincidence.”

“Yes,” Bud growled. “I think she’ll be very interested to hear what we have to say.”