“My job is to run ! I like running ! Sometimes I have to deliver important letters ! So I run fast ! Sometimes I have to deliver important people ! So I run fast ! But not too fast ! Or else they fall ! After that, I eat ! I like eating ! The barns are comfortable ! We can sleep there ! Then sometimes I have to pull carts ! So I don't run ! It's heavy ! So I walk ! But I do it fast ! Or else the humans whip me !

-Horse”

* * *

Erin

Erin was evidently surprised to learn that Azcheron had already arranged for her tagging along with the caravan.

The bastard had everything planned. I should have expected that. What if I had refused to come with him, or if I had been tied to Quarras by the mercenaries ? Did he plan to kidnap me ?

Still, she felt grateful for having such a 'reliable' companion. Whatever the reasons or basis he had to do the things he did, he was efficient and successful in his ventures.

Seeing as they still had a day and half before leaving, they decided to shop in preparation for the winter. They bought cloaks, overcoats and fur covers, as well as enough food to last the trip without having to hunt or buy from the other travellers.

The trip was supposed to take two months and quite a number of people had decided to join. It was much slower than a regular trip by horse, but the point of the caravan wasn't speed, and so it was a popular method of transportation. After all, now was one of the last opportunities to go to the capital before the cold struck. If they waited too long, there would be no caravan willing to brave the roads in winter, and they would have to journey alone and in the freezing winds, which made the undertaking potentially dangerous, whether they had a horse or not. The winters were very harsh in the continent. Including the guards, there was about eighty people about to journey with this caravan.

Erin already knew that, but Azcheron had heard from Jormas that while banditry wasn't usually much of a problem on this road since the closer you got to the capital, the better it was patrolled, some desperate bandits unprepared for the winter could try to attack and loot one last time before the season came. The young mage looked somehow merry at the possibility of being attacked by said desperate bandits.

Naturally, neither Azcheron nor Erin were worried. They could handle themselves, and most likely the whole caravan when Erin would have fully recovered, and that was not even taking into account the dozens of guards that Jormas had already hired.

On that subject, Jormas seemed quite satisfied when he finally met Erin on the morning of the departure. She now wore a dark grey cloak over her worn out armour, giving her a sort of a errant and fallen knight appearance, according to Azcheron. He was very pleased with it. It apparently coincided with his idea of a warrior travelling the lands. Erin didn't exactly know what to think of it. But she had to admit she enjoyed the description he made of her attire. She didn't say a word about it, of course, as he would be forever annoying in his self-righteouness if she did.

As for him, he simply dressed in his usual attire, and had a new fur coat that he kept in his bag, as he insisted that his current clothing was warm enough for the time.

* * *

“This is boring.”

Erin and Azcheron were guarding the front of the caravan, and the latter wasn't pleased with the uneventfulness of their trip.

They had left Quarras two weeks ago and still hadn't encountered anyone or anything. The caravan was currently passing through a forest and Azcheron had deemed the place worthy of a potential ambush by bandits.

Unfortunately for him, they had already crossed half the woods and had yet to be attacked by the esteemed ruffians. Hence Azcheron's complain.

“Aren't you bored, Erin ? I'm utterly disappointed with those bandits. We're the perfect target here, what are they doing ?”

“I just realized that you're the most insensitive person I've ever met,” she replied in a mocking voice.

“How so ?”

“You do know that most people don't really enjoy being attacked by brigands ? I, for one, almost died because of that less than a month ago. You're lucky I'm me because most people would just want to slap your face.”

“Right. Erin, thank you for being Erin. Your existence is sparing me many slaps in the face,” he said with a grin.

“Although I do agree that I'd rather be attacked now than when the cold come. Then it'll be a real pain to fight with numb fingers and frozen armour joints.”

“Mmh.”

They kept watch in silence for the next hours or so.

Then at some point, Erin saw Azcheron looking to the side, toward the sky. No, it was wore like he was trying to look far beyond the top of the trees. Erin squinted her eyes and tried to see if there was smoke or anything that'd indicate the presence of people, but to no avail.

Azcheron flashed a faint smile, and it didn't escape Erin.

Hmm. Did he spot something using magic ?

“Ah, that won't do. They won't notice us at this rate.”

Oh great. I can already guess what's going to happen.

“I'll be right back,” he said to Erin. “If Jormas asks, tell him I went to take a dump or something ?”

She simply nodded. It was easier to just let him do whatever convoluted plan he had set his mind to, rather than trying to stop him. So she would keep her position like nothing was wrong.

Of course, something was wrong. It only became obvious for everyone else when Azcheron came back running some three hours later, saying that bandits had spotted them and were on the move.

His official stance was “I stumbled upon them when I was relieving myself. They seemed to be preparing to attack so I immediately ran back here.”

Are you sure it's not something like “I purposely 'stumbled' upon them and purposely led the whole bunch back here” instead ? And who takes THREE hours to relieve himself ?!

In any case, everyone was getting ready. They had an idea of the direction the attack would come from thanks to Azcheron's generous guidance. The non-combatants went in hiding in the carriages while the guards laid a perimeter and prepared themselves.

He came back next to Erin and whispered to her. “Don't worry, there aren't many of them. I wouldn't have done that if I thought they could be any trouble. There was a time I would still have done it, though.”

Erin looked at him, confused. He probably meant to say that in a playful tone but there was a tinge of sadness in it.

“It's fine. We'll be getting some exercise that way. Let's just make sure nobody dies on our side.”

As she said that, the bandits showed themselves. They were barely a dozen and didn't look particularly dangerous. Some were breathing roughly as if they were exhausted or very furious.

But mostly, they seemed surprised. Almost as if they were following a lone brat and didn't expect at all to run into tens of soldiers waiting for them.

The staring quickly broke off into a melee fight. Most of the bandits had to deal with multiple opponents and died quickly. Erin took out two by herself, with a swing of her sword for each one. Azcheron threw some paralysing bolts for appearance's sake but neither of them were really needed.

In the end only one guard was slightly injured, and after moving the bodies out of the road, the caravan carried on.

Azcheron didn't seem to expect anything more from the trip from now on. He didn't look particularly dejected though, as if his little trick had been enough to quench his thirst for action for the next month and half. That was fishy.

* * *

Azcheron

And of course it was ! Azcheron didn't simply wander around the forest, away from the caravan, just to bait and lure a pitiful dozen of bandits.

When he saw the smoke with his magic enhanced sight, he wasn't even sure yet that it came from a bandit camp. It was likely, of course, but he'd have to check before jumping in and attacking everyone. So he asked Erin to cover for him while he would see who were the mysterious hobos having their nice campfire in this chilling beginning of winter.

If it turned out to be another batch of unclean murderers, he'd have the perfect opportunity to learn more about that curious artefact he picked up when he met Erin. The camp seemed to be located a bit more than an hour away from the caravan, by walking, but since he could use Manasprint, he wasn't worried about being left behind, so he leisurely took his time. And the caravan was long enough that they couldn't possibly go so fast that he'd be unable to return to it. He was fairly confident he could even come back without magic, by running like regular people.

The idea, of course, was displeasing ! The Saint had the privilege of being magically potent. He would be insulting himself by purposely acting like the everyday traveller when he could cross entire forests in mere half-hours.

Well, acting like the everyday traveller was basically what Azcheron did the past month. But those were exceptional circumstances. This month spent as a vulgar adventurer had a highly educational value. There was not, however, anything educational in having to run after your caravan because you were left behind like a useless oaf.

So, Azcheron wasn't worried. If he didn't quill his boredom now, he'd end up attacking the caravan himself anyway. Two weeks in and he was already bored ! And those crappy bandits. How mediocre can they get ? Missing on such an opportunity. Yes, of course, the brigands would all die because Azcheron and Erin were here to defend the caravan, but the lawless couldn't possibly know that. Then what were they doing !

The Saint obtained his answer when he finally found the encampment. The damn slobs were sleeping. That's why they weren't busy ambushing whoever crossed the forest. All the better for Azcheron, in the end. It would allow him to experiment a bit.

He took a moment to observe their camp, hiding behind the trees and bushes, several tens of meters away. There was about twenty tents, and at least twice that number of bandits outside. Probably another twenty or forty in the tents, depending on how many were sleeping inside. These were fairly impressive numbers. In fact, if they attacked the caravan, there would clearly be casualties on Azcheron's side, even with his magic. He was good at killing, not so at protecting people. It was fortunate that these guys were unsuspecting boors, Azcheron thought. No matter. Such numbers wouldn't pose any issue to him if he could fight them away from the caravan.

Most of the thugs out there were probably really sleeping. They looked like it, at least, since they were laying down and snoring. A few were keeping a watch of some sort, but seemed more interested in roasting some meat in one of the fires, or drinking what little they could find from the almost empty jugs of beer from the previous night.

Is that the reason ? Is the whole camp having a hangover or something ?

The idea amused Azcheron. Since he was feeling playful, he'd try the artefact. He took it from his pocket, and stared at it. The thing was, in the end, perfectly disgusting. It looked like it was a stone carved and sculpted into a grape-looking ear.

Why ? This thing makes no sense.

It was half-ear, half-fruit. Maybe the illusion it produced had something to do with sound ? Maybe the creator of the thing was an ignoble person ? Azcheron would soon find out. As soon as he would activate the artefact. Anytime now. It should be really soon.

How the heck am I supposed to use this ?

He tried planting it in the ground or placing it against a tree – it was a fruit, right ? He tried talking to it, giving it orders – it was an ear, right ? But there wasn't any guarantee that it would even indicate that it was working. How unpractical. Yet it was definitely a magical item, mana could be felt inside. When he searched the bodies for it, he didn't even need to see its unfathomable shape in order to know that the thing was an artefact – he just felt it. Azcheron tried to remember what he read about artefacts in books. Hopefully this one was like any other, despite his atrocious appearance.

The agreed convention was that such items would activate when you insufflated mana in it. It seemed wrong to him since the bandits from before apparently managed to use it, and bandits weren't exactly known for their magical ability, lest their knowledge about artefacts. Perhaps they had a smart one among them. Too bad he was dead now ! Azcheron tried pouring mana into the thing anyway, as he had nothing to lose.

And, of course, it started to glow. At the same time, a large chunk of the forest's mana around him disappeared. Azcheron observed the thing. The light looked like it came from the auditory canal.

How disgusting. Well, at least it should work, now. What does it do, then ? Am I invisible or something ? Does it suppress any sound I make ?

Having no way to know without relying on the bandits for 'help', he threw a stone on a bandit to see what would happen. Of course, he was ready to burn the whole camp with a fire pillar if the ear-thing wasn't hiding him or having any other useful effect.

The ruffian groaned and turned around, looking in Azcheron's direction. He squinted his eyes, frowned, squinted again. He was now squinting his eyes as if he was trying to make them pop out from the other side of his skull. Then he groaned once again and turned back to whatever empty jug he was previously blankly staring into.

Is he dumb ? He just had a rock thrown at him and he doesn't care ? I'd behead the culprit if it were me.

Aside from the thug's mind's dubious inner-workings, it was curious. Azcheron was standing in plain view, yet the bandit did not seem to notice him. Or, more likely, he noticed something, probably the reason why he was making such a grimace, but could not see. Was there a veil hiding him, or another magical phenomenon occurring, stoping people from seeing the things properly, or deforming their vision ? Maybe their eyes worked, but they couldn't understand what they were seeing. He wondered what the brigand saw, or rather, failed to see.

Should I wake up the others and ask them to participate ?

Trying to obtain more results, he threw a volley of lightning bolts at random in the camp. Immediately, the bandits already awake geared up, woke their sleepy friends, and started to hunt for whatever had just fried a handful of their kin.

Every time one of them glanced toward Azcheron's location, he stopped as if to second-guess what he saw or thought he saw. Yet every single one of them ended up looking away and searching in other places.

Alright then. Let's try giving out my position in a more obvious way.

Gathering mana around him, Azcheron focused his mind on the humidity present in the forest. From the air, the dew, the soil, he took a bit of the water contained in the vicinity, regrouped it in front of him in thin poles, and froze every single droplet. A dozen of ice lances were now floating in front of him.

Azcheron threw the lances one by one, as to make clear where them came from. The bandits seemed to have noticed that, at least. They had the fearful look of someone who just realized that a spell was about to impale them. The ice pierced and sliced through the ruffians like they were mere butter. Each time a lance would attain the opposite side of the camp, it was broken down into water again, and quickly started to gather toward Azcheron for another throw. It was a complex and not particularly practical way of committing manslaughter, compared to many other uses of magic Azcheron had access to, but here he was just playing with his enemies and purposely giving out his position.

The brigands unmistakeably knew where the lances came from, yet as they rushed toward that location, they somehow deviated from their course. It was not because they tried to avoid the lances, as there weren't that many, so there was no need to make grand detours to dodge the projectiles. It felt more like they were losing their balance, and somehow strode to the sides as if they were pulled away from Azcheron. They ended up falling on the ground, vainly struggling to stand up. The closest ones started to puke and roll on the ground like madmen. Azcheron was curious but couldn't afford to be surrounded even with this enigmatic illusion – he didn't know if and when the thing could suddenly stop working –, so he finished off the brigands that wandered to the sides, or passed behind him, during their bizarre run.

Azcheron already had an idea about the artefact's effects. He had seen that kind of behaviour on the ship, when he came to the continent. Anton had told him that it was called seasickness. It had something to do with the sense of balance, but neither the Saint nor the old scholar knew much about it. He'd have to talk to Anton about that, and look for more information when he'd visit the Academy.

So the sense of balance is what's impacted by the artefact ? What about the sort of illusion that makes me somehow invisible, then ? Perhaps it has something to do with the partially fruit-looking appearance of the thing.

No, more importantly, why is the thing ear-shaped ? This creepy and enigmatic design couldn't be the result of chance, nor could it be that its creator just settled for a random shape. No one with an ounce of moral or artistic sense would allow such a thing to exist for no reason.

And it still didn't explain the visual illusion. Maybe it was something stupid like a sort of camouflage that worked only in forests... And there was still the question of how it worked for a group. Could you somehow choose who would or wouldn't be affected by the illusion ? Would it be possible to protect a caravan with it for instance ? Or would the horses start to run around and vomit, too ? There was no definite way to know that for now, it was too unsafe. He'd have to try using the thing in other places.

For now, he had cleaning to do. About half of the bandits were still alive, running aimlessly around him, and falling. He promptly regrouped his lances, broke each one into smaller arrow-looking fragments, and propelled said fragments in the heads of the remaining enemies. In a deafening and reverberating accumulation of squashy crushing noises, their skulls simultaneously exploded, with the sudden pressure of having a hard-as-steel ice arrow piercing through. The lifeless bodies all fell almost at the same time, producing an similarly echoing thud.

There was a dozen of survivors, a bit further away from the bloody mess. Feeling pity and guilt for Erin who wouldn't get to see any action at this rate, Azcheron fuelled mana once again into the ear-thing, and the glowing stopped. The forest's mana started to slowly grow back around him. The last bunch of thugs spotted him, and probably quickly understanding that he was the unscrupulous culprit who wiped out their camp, ran toward him.

They didn't seem to think clearly about the situation and the fact that Azcheron was undeniably a mage who slaughtered on a whim some sixty or seventy of their comrades. No matter, he did not plan to kill these ones. Promptly running back toward the caravan, Azcheron undertook to led them there. The caravan's guards had to earn their pay, after all.

Surely Erin will be pleased with this gift !