Mud and Magic Ch. 10

"None of your business," Borna growled behind Rhys.

"And we're not here to ask for a refund," the sorcerer said. He had changed back into his traveling gear. Astra'il had either guessed very well or the beautiful dark elf had an eye for tailoring. The new pair of trousers fit like a glove. "We're looking to restock."

The ratkin looked at him with wide eyes and quivering whiskers. "No issues with your gear thus far? No complaints about Sunleaf headhunters coming after you?"

Rhys shook his head. "No. You seem surprised."

"It's rare for me these days to see return business. Or someone not complaining about something I can't do anything about." The vendor shrugged. "So, what'll it be?"

"Do you sell spell scrolls?" Rhys asked.

"I do have the occasional one lying around. Anything in particular?"

"Yes. Teleport would be nice. If that's not available, I'll take a message spell or something similar."

The ratkin pulled something from under his counter, a squarish wooden container with intricate metal fittings at the corners and a sturdy lock holding it shut. Instead of a key, the ratkin used three round tumblers to open it. The box folded open like a book. There were scrolls tied to thin wooden inserts, four to a "page", with their titles and a few lines of text visible. The ratkin turned the box so the script was legible for Rhys. "Here's everything I have at the moment."

"Fireball, Summon Monster, Stone To Mud, Power Word Kill... nothing we need right now," Rhys muttered, turning a page. "Hm. What's a Sepia Snake Sigil?"

"Just because it's not there today doesn't mean it won't be later," the ratkin explained while Rhys examined the box's contents. "There are always wizards and sorcerers coming through and most of them are short on coin. In exchange for creating a scroll or two, I'll give them some money."

"What would I have to pay for a Teleport scroll? One strong enough to carry at least three people?"

The ratkin made some quick calculations on his fingers. "Two-fifty."

"And if I ordered one today, how much would I pay in say... five days?"

"Two-fifty," the ratkin said, deadpan.

"No sudden holding fees or the like?" Rhys asked.

"Hell no. Like I said last time - I have no desire to be eaten by that big ...thing back there," the ratkin said, glimpsing at Borna.

"Fine. One Teleport scroll for two hundred and fifty gold then."

The ratkin pulled a cracked and scratched wax tablet form under his counter and used his index claw to scrawl some runes onto it. "To which name?"

"Rhys."

"Done. Anything else?"

"Four strong healing potions. Do you have some?"

"Sure. Clerics and alchemists are notoriously short on coin too." The vendor rummaged in the depths of his stall and returned with four metal flagons. One had the Scales of Justice embossed on it, the neck of another was bound with a bit of purple cloth, the third bottle was chased with the golden corn cob of Mother Plenty and the fourth had the Wings of Mercy hammered into it.

"Some nice vessels you have there," Astra'il observed. "I carry my healing potions in empty beer bottles."

"Well, they were all part of a matching set some sailor sold to me in Horvath Point," the ratkin said, pulling back his chaps in an approximation of a grin. "They were meant for holy spirits I think, but they make nice travel companions. Less spilled healing potion that way. Anything else?"

Rhys snapped his fingers. "Yes. The biggest coat or cloak that you have. Something half-orc sized or even bigger."

"One moment." The ratkin turned away from the counter and dug around in one of several travel chests piled high with clothing. He tossed several items into another one until he squeaked happily, returning with a large, navy-green bale of fabric. "Here you go. Are you shopping for your blanket-clad companion?"

"You don't have to-" Borna began.

Rhys reached behind his back and clasped her hand reassuringly. "Try it."

"Clothing and I have somewhat of a strained relationship," Borna growled. "Tears too easily."

"I got this off a gentleman from the Radiant Empire a few years ago. Biggest fella I ever saw," the ratkin said. "It's some kind of coat worn at sea. And it's enchanted to self-knit."

"You're kidding me," Borna snorted. "Who would spend coin-"

The ratkin made a quick gesture and a dagger slid from his sleeve. Grinning, he gouged a hand-length gash into the coat's back. Strands of fabric crossed the gash, pulling the edges close together. More and more fibers came and knotted into bits of yarn, sealing the torn fabric. Within moments, the coat was as good as new.

"Perfect. Just a handful of trail packs and we're all set," Rhys said, handing the coat to Borna.

"And probably broke," Borna muttered, shrugging off the formless blanket and pulling on the coat. It even had a hood which she promptly donned.

Rhys winced as the ratkin announced the sum total of all purchases. He counted out the coins. "And don't forget the scroll I ordered," he said.

"No, of course not. Not when you have such an impressive... whatever she is at your beck and call. Pleasure doing business with you all. And safe travels!"

The trail packs went into the equipment bag and Rhys handed out a healing flask to each of his companions.

"How's the coat?" he asked Borna.

The cursed girl moved her arms. "I wonder who ... or what the previous owner was. This thing is almost too big for me. But much easier to move in than the blanket." She pulled the coat closed and used some large ivory buttons to fasten it. "Thank you," she added quietly.

"I'm the one needing to thank you," Rhys said. "For sticking with me through all this mess." He slapped his forehead. "Look at me tripping over my tongue."

Borna giggled. "Admit it. You liked the mess we made."

Astra'il slithered in between them. "And next time you plan to make another, I want in. If that's all right with the both of you." A shockingly naughty grin played over her beautiful features.

* * * *

"What took you so long?" Gael quietly stepped out of the shadows thrown by the inn's palisade. "I was about to leave without you."

"We needed to stock up on some goods before leaving," Rhys said, tossing Gael the fourth healing potion.

The elf effortlessly snatched it from the air and tucked it under his cloak. A curt nod was all the thanks Rhys got. He eyed the sorcerer for a moment, then sighed. "You should have told me about that limp. Can you even walk for more than an hour with it?"

"Only one way to find out," Rhys said. "If all else fails, I still have my crutch."

The elf muttered something Rhys didn't understand. "What was that?"

Astra'il snaked her arm into the nook of Rhys' elbow. "He said: 'Curse you sister, for throwing in your lot with this sorry excuse for a human.'"

"That was not meant for his ears," Gael protested. "That's why I-"

"Battle companions should not have secrets," Astra'il said. "If you have any grievances, let us hear it. I didn't know Stalkerites were cowards."

Gael exhaled slowly. "I tried to be tactful, thus my choice of the Elven tongue," he explained. "I meant no insult."

"That's a lie if ever I heard one," Borna growled. "Admit it. In your eyes Rhys isn't even worth pitying."

"There are only two words in the elven language for 'human,'" Gael said. "I chose the one more commonly used. I am deeply sorry but unless Rhys has proven himself to me, I won't change it. And with his leg, he will be more of a hindrance than an asset. What exactly can you do, boy?"

What indeed? Rhys thought. He could feel all the power sources surrounding him, lots of untamed earth and ether begging to be shaped, but something seemed to bar him from them. Before Faedal had trounced him, all it took was a casual thought to gather energy but now he was... afraid? He had given his all in his fight at the camp but something the ogre had done... or a backlash when the monster hit the floating tent... or Faedal...

His scrying attempt the day before had ended disastrously. He nearly set fire to Uncle Ulrich without even trying. And any spell he had thrown against Faedal had simply fizzled without any effect.

"Even if his magic isn't fully developed yet, Rhys has his head straight on his shoulders. I owe him my life twice over," Borna growled. She flexed her fingers, but without her razorblade claws, the gesture lacked its usual threat.

"Maybe my sister did over-exaggerate. She had suffered greatly at the hands of Carver's pigs," Gael said stoically. "But it was her wish I seek you out and pay the blood debt, so here I am. Just don't expect me to carry you."

"You won't have to," Rhys snarled, picking up the pace. "I promise I won't be a hindrance on this journey."

"That remains to be seen," Gael sighed.

"Tell me, elf," Borna cut in. "What is the Stalker?"

"It is the clawed hand which guides us," Gael said with conviction. "The Stalker is elven wrath given form. It empowers those willing to sacrifice everything in the name of reclaiming what has been taken from us."

"Oh. Zealots," Borna quipped. "Maybe the Stalker fuels your rage and grants you special abilities but don't forget that simple humans managed to drive you out of your precious woods to begin with." Her eyes gleamed meaningfully under the coat's hood. "Maybe it behooves you not to underestimate humans."

The gnashing of Gael's teeth was shockingly loud as they marched into the cold twilight under the ancient trees.

"How do you know which tomb the Death priest was referring to?" Rhys asked Gael, having to make two steps for every one the elf took.

"Simple logic," Gael said. "There aren't many elven cemeteries. We usually burn our dead and use the ashes to enrich the soil. Our precious ancestors are remembered through statues, paintings and tales passed from generation to generation. No need to entice predators or worse by leaving the corpses in the open." He made a face. "Of course, there are those who deviate from the norm. First among them are the High Mages' families. They tend to keep their departed in crypts on their estates, to draw upon their wisdom in times of need. And there is only one such estate even remotely close."

"That's still just an educated guess," Rhys said.

"Wrong. I know for a fact that particular crypt has been defiled. Twice." He made a slashing motion in Rhys' direction. "Before you ask - the old Vasadil estate lies on the route between the 'Dancing Dryad' and the place where my sister and I have found shelter. A few months ago, we noticed strange noises coming from the tomb. When we investigated, we found a surprising number of black-clad soldiers guarding the place."

"And you didn't engage them?" Borna asked.

Gael spat. "We are but few and these woods are swarming with looters. We tend to pick our battles carefully."

Borna opened her mouth for another barb but Astra'il cut her short with a hand on her forearm.

"I notified the commander of our outpost. I'm fairly certain Ulrich is here on her behest," Gael added.

"And you let a human priest handle the problem?" Borna asked.

Gael shrugged. "The gods work in mysterious ways. Me walking beside you lot is ample evidence." He clapped Rhys shoulder, his tattooed visage a joyless snarl. "How about this? More walking, less talking. We have quite a ways to go."

* * * *

To be continued in Chapter XI - Collapse