Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 3

Farren and Rendarr scrambled to the side of the path as a horse driven cart came scurrying down the road at breakneck speed.

The cart was dangerously overloaded with packages and bundles of various sizes and loomed like a mountain over the driver's pointed hat. The driver, a young man, looked just as confused as Farren and Rendarr did. The horses seemed to be ignoring him completely and running wild.

Farren could only catch a glimpse of the words in gold letters on the back of the cart as it whooshed past.

'THE DARK SAINTS MAIL SERVICE.'

"As lousy as ever, huh," Rendarr said with a sigh.

The Dark Saints was one of the leading magical federations in all over Stormvale. They did wear dark uniforms, yes, but not all of them were very saintly, as happens in corporate organizations.

But what would that matter, as long as they had the the Council's seal of approval?

Ever since the Great War took a devastating toll over the land nearly five hundred years ago, the three kingdoms came together and outlawed the usage of magic in warfare. But organizations as such arose, aiming to utilise it in other aspects. Their motto: Improve general usage of magic to make people's life easier.

This mail service, however, completely missed the point, most of the time. Late deliveries, sorcery driven vehicles breaking down every other week was common occurrence.

"Stop right there!" Farren shouted, making a cone with her hands around her mouth. "The road slopes downward after the next turn."

"Well, I'm trying!" came the helpless driver's voice.

"Screw the packages, jump!" Rendarr said.

"And what? Lose my job?"

The poor Dark Saints worker was either going to break his neck, or dive face first into the waterfall, neither of which were very nice things to happen to someone at the very start of the day, she thought. Farren gently set down the buckets and focused her sorcery, although she wasn't sure where she was going with it. Animals were resistant to common magic.

Even if that weren't the case, facing two wild, frothing-at-the-mouth sort of horses meant certain doom.

"Should I paralyze the driver or what?" she asked Rendarr. It was only when she said it out loud did she realize how foolish it sounded. But I only know one spell!

"No? What on earth-" began Rendarr then jumped, looking at her hands. "What! Magic again?" Up ahead however, the Dark Saints worker was helping himself.

A crisp chill settled into the air. The carriage driver shouted incantations of elemental magic, swinging around a wooden staff in desperate yet calculated motions. Farren recognised some words, a sort of appeal to Edis, God of Winter and patron to wielders of frost magic.

A silvery spiral shot out of the end of the staff and struck the wheels, before spreading to the ground. The carriage came to a halt as the wheels stopped, thick ice lodged between the spokes. The driver, clinging to the wagon, closely avoided being thrown off.

"Hail Lord Edis," he said.

He sighed in relief, clutching the reins, as the horses neighed wildly.

Farren and Rendarr came up to him, as fast as they could on the rocky path.

"Are you alright . . . uh—Marinus Crowder?" asked Farren, taking in the letters on his badge. He was new. "And what happened to the regular, sorcery-fuelled mail coach?" she asked, staring at the vehicle that looked more like the cabbage carts she'd seen in the market.