10. Fruits of labor

The wonders of nature were wasted on Boris. The melodious singing of birds, the soft swaying of trees, the humble rustle of leaves and the liveliness of the forest. They were mere distractions, too flimsy at that. The only sound his mind registered at the moment was the feeble grumbling of his stomach, hunger needed satisfaction. And to eat, he needed to hunt. Diana had drilled that well. He pushed on his belly to dampen the noise.

Boris crept close to the ground, his breath calm and subdued. He wore a head of foliage and a face of mud. His eyes stalked the prey, never losing its trail. He did not feed on scraps anymore. A few days on those had left him more hungry than satisfied. The grass scratched his face, insinuating an itch. Boris ignored it and crept closer. His feet twitched ever so slightly and slid him noiselessly on the grass. He peeked cautiously, scanning the unaware prey. It was alone, good. Packs were difficult to deal with.

Diana was a good teacher, and a great motivator. The time with her had compelled him to learn all that he could to survive, in any way possible. Not many teachers taught you by practically threatening you with death, or worse. It also helped greatly that the blessing had changed him. He was more alert, active, and capable of greater physical exertion. Boris had wondered if this was how his friends had felt. Diana had responded that they felt better, and fared similarly. She was skimpy on the praise.

The fang rabbit was now munching on a berry, having come to a halt nearby. Its ears shook from direction to direction, trying to catch wind of any danger. It held the berry between both paws, turning it over curiously while it smelled the air for danger. These animals had a curious sense for mana, too bad for them Boris was an inept.

Satisfied with its safety, the rabbit finally turned to the second berry and grasped it, scattering a few others in enthusiasm. It lost the sense of danger and its ears drooped. Boris breathed out. The arrow left his bow noiselessly, evoking no response from the rabbit. A wail emerged as the arrow pierced in, the spoil was his.

Boris retrieved the arrow, those were difficult to fashion and therefore precious. He packed up the rabbit, slung the sack behind him and wandered back. Four rabbits dangled inside the sack. He had only touched the wooden bow four times today, a sign of improvement. Boris traced the crude marks he had dug into the trunks as directions. On his way, he gave a discrete look to the usual row of nests cradled across the lower branches. A pack of new eggs glistened upon one. Boris grinned. Today’s breakfast would be a feast!

Boiled eggs were a delicacy. Birds of this forest were extremely lazy with laying eggs. He had to scour a dozen different groves and would still rarely find any.

He placed the bow and quiver upon the ground, both humble gifts from Diana. The arrowheads were stone while everything else was made of some kind of hard wood. Diana had only taught him few basics of archery. “All in due time,” was her answer to most queries. But he didn’t have time.

Climbing up a tree was not a pleasant task, nor was it simple. Boris ran a cursory glance for monkeys and other annoyances before grasping a foothold on one of the higher roots. He climbed deftly, his hands finding crevices and rough edges as he kept his eyes and ears open for hostiles. The mother was yet to catch wind of him. He tied a vine to one of the higher branches, drawing its other end tight around his belt. It never hurt to be careful. He moved stealthily, his breath even with the breeze until he was finally up and ready to loot.

A handball of smokescreen dulled the mother. Two parts of ground lin berries, one part of triven sol bark powder, one part slime tar concentrate and a pinch of crackle thorn dust. Boris praised the recipe as the mother cackled loudly, unable to sense the culprit. He relocated two eggs immediately, holding his breath in the fumes. He was already halfway across the nest by the time the smoke dispersed, propelled by a strong wind. Unfortunately, the mother was already upon him. The screechwings were a hassle, but a brooding screechwing was a threat.

The mother sliced apart the air with its fluttering wings, creating the irking noise of nails scratching metal. Boris ducked, missing most of them while a few tore into his clothes. He held his arms close to his chest as he plunged to the next lower branch, eager to get away. ‘No merit in killing the golden goose, or in this case, the bloody screechwing.’

The mother screeched harder, sending a gale towards him. He jumped again but a slice crushed the branch below, robbing his foothold. He skewed backwards and was unable to regain balance.

Boris plunged back instead, falling headlong. The rope went taut just before he reached the ground and jerked at his waist. His foot found support the same moment and he spun with the rope’s jerk, placing him upright once again. He gripped the trunk hard with one hand as the other pulled apart the knot and dismantled the safety rope. Then he jumped to the close security of the ground, landing in a soft thump. Retrieving the bow and quiver was a small task.

He retreated while breathing phantom apologies to the mother. She chose not to leave her nest unguarded and follow him. A few more gales did impact the ground but they could do no harm. Boris dodged them easily while he scurried away. The eggs were already nestled in their pouch and he felt for them by passing a hand over the pouch. ‘Intact eggs, successful endeavor!’ Boris made his way back to Diana in a good mood.

“You are late,” Diana censured. Only half an hour had been allocated and he had exceeded that.

“I brought eggs,” Boris responded, undaunted.

Diana peered at his egg-laden hands before looking at his torn clothes. She sighed, “You ripped your clothes again. No matter, get the fire going.”

If there was one thing Boris liked about autumn, it was the convenience autumn brought to forests—Fruit laden trees ready for picking, a reduced cover of foliage for clearer view and the vast expanse of dry fallen leaves for setting things on fire. But winter was getting into season, the air was getting colder each day and the animals would start hibernating soon. Boris gathered the litter and set the sparks alight, striking the flint in one precise stroke. He had barely set the water boiling when Diana was done. Finely chopped pieces of rabbit meat sat on a small wooden slab, ready for cooking.

It was always interesting to see Diana cook, his own talent at cooking being poor.

Diana sprinkled a few handpicked herbs that Boris had foraged and added hints of other materials in an almost scientific manner. She had vials of what looked like tens of varieties of salts and spices. They failed to make the food a delicacy but it always better than bland food, and Boris was always hungry. His hunger had spiked ever since he had received the blessing.

“Why do you carry around so many spices?” Boris had once asked her.

“They’re not spices. They are alchemical salts. With the right mix, the right spell and the right procedure, you can create the most potent of concoctions. It does help that some of them can make the food taste better.”

That had been surprising. He had never pegged Diana as an alchemist but he remembered that all elves were supposedly good at it. Alchemy did interest him some, and it always helped to learn a few wayward recipes that didn’t need magic. The smokescreen was one, its pungent odor often more chafing than its cloudy charade. Diana however, had advised him against blind experiments. They were dangerous.

Not that it worked, Boris loved creating explosive recipes. Seedthorn, Pickblow, Howlking, Walltricks; Boris was surprised how some of Diana’s recipes could be twisted just the wrong way to create such devilish abominations. And for all the banter he heard about disgracing the sacred art of Alchemy and the ridiculous punishments he incurred, it was worth it. The duel had taught him to look for such methods and Diana felt extremely regretful about having aided him in that.

The meal ended promptly, Diana disliked wasting time. She had already coupled his morning exercises with food hunts.

“Change your clothes, and prepare for sparring.”

Boris handed over the torn tunic as he changed into loose robes, a dirt-brown vest and mud green pants held by thick black sash. Apparently the clothes of elven trainees. Diana passed a hand over his tunic as she chanted. A soft glow emerged, the cloth stirred and the threads wriggled to reform. Within minutes, there was no trace of tear on the tunic.

Boris smiled at the display. Even though Diana was reserved with her magic, he always found it oddly satisfying and immersive. Unlike the spells Violet used, which did not need chants, Diana often favored chants and arcane magic. The magic itself looked wondrous, a soft warm glow that calmed the air.

He had been pestering her fervently about every magic she displayed and sought her help with understanding arcane magic. Sadly, it was colossal field without a beginning or an end. Boris was all but lost about it, trying to piece together vestiges he claimed from Diana.

Diana threw the repaired tunic back, upon the mound of Boris’s belongings. A clump of clothes, a few logs of wood, bristled twigs and a sleek dagger sat among the miscellany. An plain wooden hilt supported a steel blade, a rare weapon. The hilt had no traces of metal and he could use it well. He was yet to learn how to use it well though. “All in due time.”

Boris ignored the dagger and stood up, walking up to his own position.

“Learn to dodge better kid, you will be roaming naked else,” Diana lectured as she walked across the level opening, Boris standing opposite. The leaves had been cleared and only the grass spun in persistence.

Boris took a deep breath, holding his hands loosening as he relaxed his body. His left arm was grasped behind his waist and his right bent forward. The free form, the basis of all other forms. “I had eggs in my pants, it was kind of difficult.” He darted the same moment he spoke, each step a diversionary movement that impinged on Diana’s blind spot. Diversion was the first form, the one he had learnt best.

Boris launched a hit from sideways, twisting to extract force from the ground. His body bent as his palm thrust at her flank. Diana countered the incoming hit away, not even turning her face to look at him. “Wrong,” she frowned, “the second form is inversion, twist the step inside and the palm outside!” Her hand whirled around his as she pulled him. Boris flung upside down with that sudden movement, unable to counter it.

Whoever said elves were physically weak was an ignorant buffoon. Going by the accounts of Diana, the martial arts the elves had invented went beyond power, almost ignoring it. Svenda was what it was called in Cylian, it meant ‘swift death’. Even as a novice, he could see it was powerful.

Boris regained his bearings mid-air doing a complete spin as he landed deftly behind her. His feet swept under her, intent on striking her down. There were balance points and counter points, each vital in disrupting the enemy. A well-placed hit would always work, irrespective of how strong the opponent was, as long as he was not extremely large too. His body remembered each such location, having received innumerable hits on those very same points.

Elaine dodged his sweeping kick easily, her feet flickering while Boris missed. “Wrong.” She lectured Boris who stood up swiftly. “The sweep must be compact, and the foot half-flexed,” Boris heard as his feet faltered, the strength leaving his ankles. Diana had just demonstrated a perfect sweep. Just another reminder of where the balance point was.

Boris pushed his hands behind him as he fell back, rolled back deftly to stand up, one arm held outwards in defense. His feet planted flexibly, ready for the next sweep if be. Diana didn’t attack, just stood up leisurely, waiting for him to retaliate.

For all its versatility, the Svenda had one massive flaw. It depended heavily on counters. All lethal hits were derived from the enemy’s own momentum, turning the opponent’s strength into a weapon. As long as one didn’t attack however, one couldn’t be countered.

Boris took a deep breath in and bent a little. He lunged abruptly, curving in towards the landing. The trajectory put him just out of Diana’s reach, and evoked the slightest hint of astonishment only visible on a feral smile. The third form was a spiral, a highly perceptive form. Boris attacked as he circled her. Every attack left a false opening, provoking the opponent into a fruitless assault. Turning hits into counters.

His fist extended and was parried, her thrust entered empty space and was countered by a blow, which was reverse countered. Palm thrusts were deflected, sharp strikes evaded and knees and legs tackled each other in restraint. It was soon a flurry of mixed blows, each traded as a counter to the previous and parried by the next. Boris found his hands weave through the throttle of blows almost instinctively. Diana’s training was more suitable and adaptable, designed for people like him. If only he had a little more height, he would be the perfect candidate for it. He envied Claire’s height in a moment of distraction and a palm thrust caught him.

Boris choked heavily on his breath as he was flung away, the world swirling violently in brazen shock. This was the second thing that differed in Diana’s training. Every hit harbored a genuine intent to kill. It was at a level that wrenched his nerves open, draining his fear away in brute force. And she repeated it again and again, in every way possible, until death felt preferable. Boris wondered if he could ever feel fear again, all the monsters felt like cute puppies before Diana. And many behaved similarly.

Boris found a second brutal kick throw him back up just as he neared ground, shielding his flank with the elbow at the last moment. This was the third difference. Welmar always gave him an occasion to retreat and recover. Diana found it insulting to observe such practices on a battlefield. It was enough that she didn’t kill him. As a result, any successful hit of hers could merge into a combo and leave Boris airborne for a while. He had actually spent the first week just being whirled into the air, even if he excluded the time the fimberhounds made fair game of him.

A third hit found his barely guarded back before he finally dropped onto the ground, relishing the crude brush of grass on his face. The soil smelled of defeat and litter. Boris lay sprawled onto the floor for a few seconds, easing his breath before Diana approached. He clambered back abruptly to his form as she smiled ferociously.

“Again?” Diana asked, seeing Boris take the free form. Her emerald eyes glowed with bestial provocation as she swung her braid back in challenge. A bead of sweat had yet to form on her brows and her breath was as calm as a sleeping child. Her lips neither smiled nor frowned, just parted briefly to display silver teeth. The air shivered around her now and the critters scattered in fear. Dangerous, was an understatement.

“Again,” Boris responded undaunted. His toes strained as he plunged in.

………………

It was afternoon when Boris observed the second of Diana’s rituals in training. The relatively innocuous exercise that helped in controlling breathing. A thick sturdy vine was still tied to his waist as a safety measure and he wafted along the rapids of the river that made a descent across the terrain, trying to defy it. He had to swim upstream while maintaining his breath. He had to give it to Diana, she knew exactly how to motivate people.

This stretch of water was different from the previous one, they had shifted south over the days before Diana had found it. The river was deeper here and just as rowdy, if not more.

Boris thundered against the currents, his breath still erratic against the cold thrust of water as his arms splashed in vehement rebellion. It was not entirely useless, however. He had started developing some resistance to the water flow. That and the blessing Diana had bestowed made sure he could now maintain a status quo in the water, two pushes back and ten pushes forward. It was also important to figure the currents. It took a lot of time for Boris to figure out regions where the currents clashed, creating an area of milder flow. He made it his priority to keep to these regions as much as possible and advance slowly.

The objective was to make him capable of swimming upstream without any safety measures, and he sincerely hoped it was possible. Just staying as is took a huge toil on his body and Diana insisted he stay an hour for two separate intervals each.

It was innocuous, he could never die and Diana was always ready to save him if he drowned or fainted.

____________

This gave way to the third of rituals. Each ritual was generous in providing him little time to cook, eat and rest.

Diana gestured to him as Boris got ready for her assault. He nodded back.

She vanished, Boris tilted sideways, and a gash cut the air in half without a sound. Boris shifted to accommodate a second invisible swing. He wondered why the world needed heroes when it had Diana, she could probably cut the whole continent in half without a sound and never be seen doing it.

“Pay attention!”

Boris shifted again to dodge an oblique swipe and bent back as it reversed into a horizontal swing. The rule required that he never retaliate, oddly infuriating but rational. He was learning to dodge after all. Boris repeated a sequence of movements that put him difficult to trace in a single strike. Diana called this form aversion, something that deterred and exhausted enemies, robbing their offensive with mere defense. He was poor at this because it required a height of combat experience, and Diana was providing him just that.

“Use your feet better!”

Three consecutive slashes cut along. Boris leaped back to avoid the first, tilted as the second traced upward and shifted when the third found his face. A thin line of blood resumed on his cheek. It would not leave a scar. Boris leapt back again before the next blow could dig his neck and spun on his left foot as Diana lunged next. His arm parted to make space for another thrust. His flank hurt, another wound.

“Do not look away. Your senses are your only saving grace.”

“I am trying, I am trying!”

His eyes continuously traced each strike and span, but his body was yet to keep up with it.

Diana swiped the dagger for a sword in one fluent blow. The range increased abruptly as he received a stab to his shoulder, even though he had tried to evade. He groaned to pull a rough cloth tight over his wound, it was not deep and he did not have time. The second stab came as he leaped back yet again. This time a tree held his back, cutting off his leap.

“There are only so many times you can retreat.” The sword came faster than he could see. His eyes went wide as his spine shuddered. The sword brushed through his hair to stab the trunk and Boris almost felt himself die. It was enormous, the killing intent almost made him faint as he slumped down. Diana had increased her pressure yet again. He calmed his thudding heart to stand up. She would barely give him a few moments.

Diana trained him mostly with fast weapons, the swords, the daggers and the short spear. She rarely used broadswords or polearms and never wielded an axe. They were weapons for barbarians and brutes, not for a genteel elf. Where she got them, he had no idea. They were definitely not with her when she arrived and he had no time to peek on her actions, as much as he wanted to.

“Can’t I just use my dagger? It will help me learn to attack and dodge at the same time,” Boris asked her after the melee had ended.

“You don’t think that flimsy metal would hold against reinforced weapons, do you? There are plenty of attacks you can never defend against and evasion is the greatest safety. I will burn it into your body,” Diana cautioned as she plucked her bow. Boris sprinted for cover.

Arrows stalked him, curving through the air in dreadful motions. Some of them would just pierce the ground, but others would cave it. ‘Right, plenty of attacks I cannot defend against.’

He kept Diana within his sight as he ran, gauging her motion for the next arrow’s trajectory. Even if they could curve, they could not bend a full course. Some were imbued with magic though, proving to have wider effects and ridiculous strength. He had to start running early, as soon as he sensed danger, to get out of their range.

Fortunately, because Diana held some fondness for the forest she never used magic too strong or too large. The forest would have turned into flat earth otherwise. Really, why did they need heroes? He would pay a ton of gold to see Ray defeat Diana, if he dared.

The ritual ended with two arrows up his arm and gashes across his body. They served as reminders against further neglect. Boris changed his torn and muddied clothes after being healed. He would be needing some new clothes soon. He wished Diana would just conjure them up, like she did with weapons.

The fourth ritual was where Diana really showed her skills. She didn’t even whistle, just voiced words silently into the wind, and a pack of fimberhounds came running out of the woods into her lap. They behaved like pets, licking her and hogging her attention. Except they were five foot tall monsters with the ability to spit fire and stun opponents with their barking. They had a sense of smell so keen Boris was sure they could separate a drop of sweat from the ocean. And they were devious hunters.

“How do you even do that?” Boris asked once again, with stupefaction.

“I told you Boris, I am an Elf, an Empathizer.”

“Right, that infinitely complicated and vague explanation about the blessings of fairies and spirits. Why wasn’t I born an elf?”

“I have no qualms if you want to digress, I will be releasing them in five minutes either way.”

Boris ran like the wind. Never was a moment wasted before Diana, she loathed leisure.

What had begun for stamina training and hiding skills, had turned into an eerie nightmarish escape. Those despicable hounds hunted him voraciously, their mouths glistening with tarry saliva that flowed over savage canines. And they never refrained from biting him, those curs! What if he caught rabies? Diana did tell him that she could heal most ailments but who wanted to take a chance like that?

And to make matters worse, they would chase him till the last instance of dusk, meaning that he had to hunt for dinner at the same time while escaping and hiding from them. Diana had implemented this crafty idea after she found Boris ‘capable’. Because fimberhounds were brilliant hunters, they often led him around their own territories, packed with other creepy monsters and animals that served to hinder him. On the bright side, he also found food easily, only if he could trick them.

‘Dodge, hide, run, my new outlook on life.’

Boris threw a smokescreen, while littering his trail with a few pickblows. They were small plates that exploded on being pressed, like landmines. But safer, one could never lose a limb. A finger though, was fair game. He never had them in sufficient quantity, Presain roots were difficult to acquire.

He skirted through the more stinky parts of the forest, hoping it would mask some of his scent. If he could jump from treetop to treetop like Diana, he would have had an easy escape. Boris peered back into the dense foliage to sense bloodthirsty eyes stalking him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and ran faster. This was going to be another long day.

______________

(Two weeks ago)

It was a feast. A celebration.

Large banners hung in colorful decorations and lights flamed in the night. Revelry spun, taking the people along in drinks and songs. Huge tables lay along the Village Hall, the poorly embroidered cloth being the best decoration they could afford. The village chief sat at the head, his daughter and wife at either side. Hope gleamed on their faces. Their saviors had come. The fear of death had left their eyes and the excitement of life danced within.

Ray sat across the table, with Violet, Sylvia and Claire. Elaine had left them partway through their journey, having some other engagements. Her absence did not amount to much, the heroes considered her strength to be the least among the party members.

Ray peered across the table towards the village chief. The old man had barely enough hair to hide his scalp.

“Is there something not to your liking Sir Ray? Please do excuse us if we have offended you in some part,” the old man spoke deferentially.

“Nothing of the sort, please, I am honored to have such a large feast in my presence.”

Ray looked around jovially, cherishing the spirit of liveliness.

It had been over a month since they had begun their expedition to rid the bandits. First, it was Sloona, a town in the southeastern boonies of Cumaria. The town had made a request with the Order of Thiracus to aid them against bandits. Because the town held little of importance, the kingdom had delayed its help. Violet had immediately advised to pick it up.

“It will provide a small reward but most importantly, it will be easier and you will get a touch.” A touch of killing people, a touch of people dying.

The bandits in Sloona were child’s play. Their weapons were clumsy and their strength mockable. The Sloona bandits had launched an ill meant attack, killing a few people before the heroes arrived. A fierce onslaught forced them to retreat while killing half their force.

But the problem didn’t end there, it migrated. After Sloona came Miduard, an old trading town that had fallen after the split of Sumaira. It was full of dilapidated buildings and poor people, and the incidents of banditry had increased. The heroes went east in their purge and repeated the action. They met a slightly stronger force but dealt with it easily.

Then came Gitten, another small village. Every time they met the enemy force it grew slightly stronger, better prepared. But it didn’t matter, the heroes were a whole different level. In all his instances of battle, Ray had found the denizens of evil gravely lacking. They were weak, impatient and unprepared. They were easy prey. Sylvia had a few bouts of nervousness and fainting at the bloodshed but she had won over it.

Tabin was the current village they occupied. It had turned into a hellhole of bandits and robbers. That was not strange. Tabin was located south of the kingdom, after the Sikri road ended. It had only one watch post and produced nothing of great value to Cumaria. South of Tabin, the Shadows of Sik degraded into hills and caverns before falling into the cliffs of Marbess. The sea extended beyond it. This was a middle of nowhere. But the heroes had a duty, and Ray savored that duty.

“Rest assured mister Endon. We, the heroes, will get rid of the bandits for well. It is despicable of them to threaten poor souls and I will not allow it.” Ray reaffirmed his decision.

“I am highly grateful for your assurance. We have always been in fear of their cruelty, fearing for the lives of our children and ourselves. They even abducted my grand-niece a while ago…” his eyes turned pale in horror, “Gods! I pray she is safe. Please save her and everyone else,” the village chief implored.

“We will,” Claire assured him, “and we will do it so they will not lift a finger again.” She was already seething to kill those scum.

“Praise Thiracus! For surely he has sent his aid to us in our time of misery,” the village chief exclaimed loudly.

“Praise Thiracus!” voices resounded.

And the atmosphere burst with loud raucous cheers and the clatter of jugs. People danced and sang, rejecting their fear to adorn merriment. Ray joined in the celebration. Everywhere they went they brought hope and vanquished evil. Everywhere they went people welcomed them with open arms. They were a miracle. They were heroes.

“Ray,” Sylvia shushed him out of the dream.

“What is it Sylvia?”

“I need to discuss something with you,” she whispered.

“Speak aloud.”

“No, privately.”

Ray eyed Sylvia curiously before nodding. He turned to his hosts, “Please allow me leave. I have matters I must discuss with my companions.” Endon acceded immediately, “Absolutely. But please do us the honor coming back, it would be an empty celebration without you.”

Ray, Claire and Violet followed Sylvia back to a simple inn room. Sylvia was not very pleased to have others come, but this was an important matter.

“So?” Ray asked after taking a seat.

“I want to ask, what do you think of this expedition?”

“What do I think?” Ray shrugged, “It is progressing well, I am overjoyed with it.”

“No, why do you think we are here in the first place,” Sylvia asked.

“Because the king wanted us to gain some experience and I thought it was right. This also helps me take my mind off other things,” Ray replied honestly.

“You don’t get it do you? It was our choice. We started in Sloona but every next request we took brought us east along inconspicuous places. Each of them was plagued with bandits and had filed a request. Do you see where I am going?”

Everyone else eyed her curiously, expecting some brilliant deduction.

“This is a route,” Sylvia spoke passionately, “a secret route. We met bandits and robbers all along, many of them carrying loot and whatever else. This is their turf and it leads all the way along the eastern border, away from the kingdom’s eyes.”

“So? What do you want to say?” Violet asked Sylvia.

“Why would they need a route? They are transporting things, maybe smuggling something?”

“They are robbers Sylvia, that is what they do,” Ray told her.

“Unless they are smuggling something else,” she told them.

“Now that is just a blind guess, we never found anything else on them.”

“We did,” Sylvia countered.

“All we found were corpses. They killed the people and the monsters nearby so that was expected.”

“Exactly. What if they were smuggling monsters and slaves? Didn’t they abduct people here?”

“They asked for a ransom Sylvia,” Claire interjected, “I heard from the villagers. And there is no slavery in Cumaria, not since a few decades.”

“And it doesn’t matter either way,” Ray finished, “we will kill them, release the hostages and secure peace. Everything else can be handled by the kingdom. We are not detectives.”

Sylvia accepted it reluctantly. “It makes sense but it seems a little risky.”

“There will be no risk,” Claire told her, “I have located their hideout. It’s an abandoned fortress. We will infiltrate, rescue the hostages and kill the rest.”

“That sounds like a plan.” Ray accepted it confidently.

And thus, Sylvia gave up on her misgivings. In hindsight, she never should have.

_________________

Inside a dark opulent room of the abandoned fortress near Tabin, sat a burly figure. A Scythian by the name of Sodor. He was an outlaw from Sturmhelm and had found refuge in Cumaria, expanding his organization over the lesser guarded eastern border. The eastern border sunk right into the Anatheim Sea and had no ports. The only utility had been easy travel to the south. But once the south had split away as Sumaria, trade and commerce had declined along this route.

This worked severely in his favor; he only needed a decade to secure monopoly over the route. The route itself proved a boon. It was not the villages that provided him with paltry money and resources. Nor was it the infrequent travelers. It was the shady clients. There were especially interested in an organization such as his. One with the ability to transport goods and carry out a few errands, without casting any suspicion on them.

He had also propagated his power aggressively, claiming hideouts and secret storages. He killed ruthlessly, to instill fear into villagers and subordinates alike. He had even begun delving into slave trading. It was all part of a grand scheme that was now falling apart. Some brats calling themselves heroes had popped up and wrecked his territories and men. They had whittled down his power bit by bit, until this last refuge remained.

‘They are strong, but I will make them pay. No one messes with Sodor.’

“Leader,” a subordinate interrupted his thoughts.

“What,” Sodor asked, a menacing scar cut twice over his cruel lips.

“H-he’s here,” the subordinate replied in dread.

“Ah, send him in Vook,” Sodor replied as the door opened again, a man in dark purple armor walked in. His face held a curious mask, cut in curved slits at his eyes and mouth and without a slit for nose. The man walked without fear and sat down comfortably before Sodor, spreading his arms on the couch.

“What is this I hear? Have the Bloody Corpse grown so weak to fall to a couple of brats?”

Solon gave a bloody glare to the masked visitor before turning to Vook, “Who?” he asked, “Who spilled?”

“I- I don’t- I t-think it was Corrow,” Vook minced his words.

“Fingers and toes, then arms and legs, then the eyes and the head. You know the drill,” Sodor ordered him in an insipid tone. Vook left without a word.

“Cruel as always, you think I don’t have other sources of information?” the visitor spoke cheerfully.

“It doesn’t matter Viker, or should I call you pagan Viker?” Sodor voiced an insult.

The air stirred and the table split in half, a fatal blow that Sodor had avoided by shifting barely. A gash sat in the wall behind him but he paid it no heed. His hand held a dagger at Viker’s throat, a small line of blood upon it.

“Let us not fight,” Sodor threatened.

“I agree. Down to business then, where are the goods?”

“Didn’t you have a look before coming down?”

An eerie feeling erupted from behind the mask, causing Sodor to flinch. “Do not fool me Sodor. She is a half, I asked for pureblood. Even if you bring me seven instead of six, it is the pureblood that matters most.”

“The child is pureblood, the adult is half. You didn’t pay attention did you?”

“Ah, my mistake, it was very weak so I reckoned both the same. It still means that you cut corners,” Viker cautioned.

“It was the best I could get. I will give you ten others as an apology, but I don’t have any purebloods other than her,” Sodor put forward his offer.

“Deal,” the masked man replied after some thought and rose to get away. He turned back just before exiting the door. “I would advise you to deal with the brats soon,” were the last words he left.

“Don’t worry,” Sodor spoke with a murderous smile, “we will show them hell.”

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(Current time)

Boris returned slightly late for dinner. His clothes were muddied but not torn. His hair was unkempt, his face caked with mud and his body layered in it. His hands held clumps of wet mud. A leather skin pouch filled with water was hanging at his waist. He walked confidently towards the burning fire of the camp. He had gotten a bit lost but he had fared better than he hoped.

“You are late,” Diana lectured him.

“I know, I know. Guess what I found?” Boris dropped the heavy knapsack from his back on the ground. It opened and a belger fell out. Belgers looked like deers, but much smaller and with short curved horns. He had read that they were a delicacy and hid in bogs of mud.

“A belger. That is rare, you jumped into a bog?” Diana questioned him.

“I took all the precautions alright? Those curs didn’t leave me much chance so I just tied a vine and jumped in. And oh, I found this great feast there, hunted him with my arrows.”

“You could have sunk and died,” Diana reminded him.

“But I didn’t, and I made two great discoveries,” Boris told her excitedly.

“Two?”

“One, the belger. Two, the fimberhounds absolutely hate wet mud! You should have seen me drive them off. Oh, sweet vengeance!” Boris recreated the scene where he had slung mudballs onto the fimberhounds, making them yelp as they growled at him. Their firebolts missed and he never allowed them to get near while he fired his own shots.

“So you found out? I suppose I will have to give up on them chasing you then.”

“Yes you will,” Boris told her with great happiness. The worst of the rituals would now be over. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t worry. I will call the silverpelts from tomorrow.”

“They’re wolves! And they actually eat humans sometimes!” Boris exclaimed in disbelief.

“All the more reason to call them.”

“I should never have told you about that,” Boris regretted.

“Shut up kid. You stink, go clean up and then help me skin this, so we can eat.”

Boris reluctantly took his bath and returned. Diana skinned and prepared the bergel meticulously while Boris observed keenly, eager to learn some of her expertise.

The sumptuous dinner left Boris with the last leg of the day. Barely two hours before he would need to sleep.

Boris searched through his belongings to pull out a stack of parchment and unrolled it. There were two different sets set apart by a thick leaf. He ran a cursory glance through the first one. It enunciated various things about arcane magic he had learned from Diana. Most of it was very vague and he had no idea how Pedantic spells could incorporate these. He ran a few more checks upon his findings and tried to make greater sense of them. A comparison with the Pedantic spells Grey had taught him revealed little. ‘If only I had a book.’ But this was no time for books. He made a few additional notes here and there before setting it back.

As far as Boris knew, these notes were his only reliable hope at finding a way back to his world. Killing the demon lord was not feasible, and he hoped to find a different, simpler way.

The second set that he pulled was a bit more practical. It contained a few recipes he had learnt from Diana and how he had experimented with them. He made a mention of successes and failures, trying to put a reason on it. It didn’t go too far. As it was, Diana had taught him little of alchemy, she did not want him creating deadly recipes. She also said that higher alchemy needed a better understanding of magic, something he lacked.

Boris stuffed both rolls back into his belongings, taking due care they were not harmed. Then he turned to make sure Diana was not behind him. Usually by this time, he would start messing with some alchemical recipes but he was late today. So he skipped to the last of his routine.

Boris grasped a stone in both hands and turned to his exercise. He sat with his legs crossed over and his hands within his lap. It looked like meditation, but that was half a charade. Breathing softly, he tried to relax his body while feeling for his mana tree. It had branched again today. Ever since the first day when he felt it change, he had continued to exert upon it at night. It was extremely painful at first but he kept exerting it to the point of near collapse. It could have been deadly but Boris could not think of any other way.

After long bouts of discussions with Diana, during the training, he had found she knew no cure for ineptitude. The only thing she ventured to guess was that some very vague legends described of it being cured by lethally enormous magic or accident, if the victim ever survived. But she said that no such method was actually feasible, or even worth it. So Boris decided to push on with brute force.

He felt for the enormous mana tree, empty and hollow, and squeezed at it. He felt a few new branches sprout out even as the pain flared. It was familiar, invasive pain. But over a period of doing this, his body was getting used to it. His heart did not cringe, only quivered. His mind did not shudder, only wobbled. His arms and legs felt a lesser degree of pain. The stones he had grasped helped lessen the pain. But he still sweated profusely, much more than when he ran.

Boris kept squeezing at it, forcing small increments. Hoping, willing, craving it to change. The pain increased every moment, making his skin shiver and his hands sweat. He pushed on. ‘A little more,’ he told himself every day. His mana tree was expanding, encroaching upon his body in millions of branches and roots. But it never yielded, not even today.

What use was a tree that bore no fruit?

Boris felt the repetitive pang of frustration as he pressed harder. His hands and arms contracted strongly, bringing forth the first of cramps. He felt them spasm and lose their sensation. Then he heard a sound, a loud crack as if his bones had broken. He peered down in fear, hoping he did not just break both his hands in foolishness. Diana would be furious.

“What was that?” Diana suddenly appeared before him.

“Nothing,” Boris replied reflexively as he hid his hands behind him. A few more cracks emerged noiselessly as the stones crumbled to pieces on the ground. “Nothing at all,” Boris smiled deceptively. Diana might have read his face but she didn’t bother. She left telling him to be careful.

Thoughts stormed his mind as Boris looked back at the crumbled remains of both stones.

‘What if I was wrong? What if I could find a different use?’

Time would surely tell. And he would be dedicating all the time tonight.

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